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X The Abbe 
m Constantin 


LUDOV1C MALEVY 1 


or THE ERE NCI I ACADE/AN 


CHICAGO 


W. B. CON KEY COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


\Z -3 
!( ' 1 1 ■’ ,H\3iKe 

ir r' 1 ^ 


Library of Congress 

Two Copies Received 

AUG 18 1900 

Cepjngiit entry 

noaJl&rz 

FIRST COPY. 

2nd Copy Delivered to 

ORDER DIVISION 

-SEP — S— 1900 




Copyright, 1900, by W. B. Conkey Company 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN 


CHAPTER I. 

With a step still valiant and firm an old 
priest walked along the dusty road in the full 
rays of a brilliant sun. For more than thirty 
years the Abbe Constantin had been Cure of 
the little village which slept there in the plain, 
on the banks of a slender stream called La 
Lizotte. 

The Abbe Constantin was walking by the 
wall which surrounded the park of the castle 
of Longueval ; at last he reached the entrance 
gate, which rested high and massive on two 
ancient pillars of stone, enbrowned and 
gnawed by time. The Cure stopped, and 
mournfully regarded two immense blue pos- 
ters fixed on the pillars. 

The posters announced that on Wednesday, 
May 18, 1881, at one o’clock p. m., would 
take place, before the Civil Tribunal of 
Souvigny, the sale of the domain of Longue- 
val, divided into four lots. 

i st. The castle of Longueval, its depen- 
dencies, fine pieces of water, extensive offices, 
park of one hundred and fifty hectares in ex- 
3 


4 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


tent, completely surrounded by a wall, and 
traversed by the little river Lizotte. Valued 
at six hundred thousand francs. 

2d. The farm of Blanche-Couronne, three 
hundred hectares, valued at five hundred 
thousand francs. 

3d. The farm of La Rozeraie, two hundred 
and fifty hectares, valued at four hundred 
thousand francs. 

4th. The woods and forests of La Mionne, 
containing four hundred and fifty hectares, 
valued at five hundred and fifty thousand 
francs. 

And these four amounts added altogether at 
the foot of the bill gave the respectable sum 
of two millions and fifty thousand francs. 

Then they were really going to dismember 
this magnificent domain, which, escaping all 
mutilation, had for more than two centuries 
always been transmitted intact from father to 
son in the family of Longue val. The placards 
also announced that after the temporary divi- 
sion into four lots, it would be possible to 
unite them again, and offer for sale the entire 
domain, but it was a very large morsel, and to 
all appearance no purchaser would present 
himself. 

The Marquise de Longueval had died six 
months before; in 1873 she had lost her only 
son, Robert de Longueval; the three heirs 
were the grandchildren of the Marquise, — 
Pierre, Helene, and Camille. It had been 
found necessary to offer the domain for sale, 
as Helene and Camille were minors. Pierre, 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


5 


a young man of three and twenty, had lived 
rather fast, was already half ruined, and could 
not hope to redeem Longueval. 

It was midday. In an hour it would have a 
new master, this old castle of Longueval ; and 
this master, who would he be? What woman 
would take the place of the old Marquise in the 
chimney corner of the grand salon, all adorned 
with ancient tapestry? — the old Marquise, the 
friend of the old priest It was she who had 
restored the church ; it was she who had estab- 
lished and furnished a complete dispensary at 
the vicarage under the care of Pauline, the 
Cure’s servant; it was she who, twice a week, 
in her great barouche, all crowded with little 
children’s clothes and thick woollen petticoats, 
came to fetch the Abbe Constantin to make 
with him what she called “la chasse aux 
pauvres. ’ ’ 

The old priest continued his walk, musing 
over all this ; — then he thought too — the great- 
est saints have their little weaknesses — he 
thought too of the beloved habits of thirty years 
thus rudely interrupted. Every Thursday and 
every Sunday he had dined at the castle. 
How he had been petted, coaxed, indulged! 
Little Camille — she was eight years old — would 
come and sit on his knee and say to him : 

“You know, Monsieur le Cure, it is in your 
church that I mean to be married, and grand- 
mamma will send such heaps of flowers to fill, 
quite fill the church — more than for the 
month of Mary. It will be like a little garden 
— all white, all white, all white!’’ 


6 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


The month of Mary! It was then the 
month of Mary. Formerly at this season ihe 
altar disappeared under the flowers brought 
from the conservatories of Longueval. None 
this year were on the altar, except a few 
bouquets of lily-of-the-valley and white lilacs 
in gilded china vases. Formerly, every Sun- 
day at high mass, and every evening during 
the month of Mary, Mademoiselle Hebert, the 
reader to Madame de Longueval, played the 
harmonium given by the Marquise. Now the 
poor harmonium, reduced to silence, no longer 
accompanied the voices of the choir or the chil- 
dren’s hymns. Mademoiselle Marbeau, the 
post-mistress, would with all her heart have 
taken the place of Mademoiselle Hebert, but 
she dared not, though she was a little musical. 
She was afraid of being remarked as of the 
clerical-party, and denounced by the Mayor, 
who was a Freethinker. That might have 
been injurious to her interests, and prevented 
her promotion. 

He had nearly reached the end of the wall 
of the park, that park of which every corner 
was known to the old priest. The road now 
followed the banks of the Lizotte, and on the 
other side of the little stream stretched the 
fields belonging to the two farms; then, still 
farther off, rose the dark woods of La Mionne. 

Divided! The domain was going to be 
divided ! The heart of the poor priest was 
rent by this bitter thought. All that for thirty 
years had been inseparable, indivisible, to 
him. It was a little his own, his very own ( 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


7 


his estate, his great property. He felt at 
home on the lands of Longueval. It had hap- 
pened more than once that he had stopped com- 
placently before an immense cornfield, plucked 
an ear, removed the husk, and said to himself: 

“Come! the grain is fine, firm, and sound. 
This year we shall have a good harvest!” 

And with a joyous heart he would continue 
his way through his fields, his meadows, his 
pastures; in short, by every chord of his 
heart, by every tie of his life, by all his habits, 
his memories, he clung to this domain whose 
last hour had come. 

The Abbe perceived in the distance the farm 
of Blanche-Couronne ; itsred-tiledroofs showed 
distinctly against the verdure of the forest. 
There, again, the Cure was at home. Ber- 
nard, the farmer of the Marquise, was his 
friend, and when the old priest was delayed 
in his visits to the poor and sick, when the sun 
was sinking below the horizon, and the Abbe 
began to feel a little fatigue in his limbs, and 
a sensation of exhaustion in his stomach, he 
stopped and supped with Bernard, regaled 
himself with a savory stew and potatoes, and 
emptied his pitcher of cider; then, after sup- 
per, the farmer harnessed his old black mare 
to his cart and took the vicar back to Longue- 
val. The whole distance they chatted and 
quarreled. The Abbe reproached the farmer 
with not going to mass, and the latter replied: 

“The wife and the girls go for me. You 
know very well Monsieur le Cure, that is how 
it is with us. The women have enough reli- 


8 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


gion for the men. They will open the gates 
of Paradise for us.” 

And he added maliciously, while giving a 
touch of the whip to his old black mare : 

“If there is one?” 

The Cure sprang from his seat. 

“What! if there is one! Of a certainty 
there is one. ” 

“Then you will be there, Monsieur le Cure. 
You say that is not certain, and I say it is. 
You will be there, you will be there, at the 
gate, on the watch for your parishioners, and 
still busy with their little affairs; and you will 
say to St. Peter — for it is St. Peter, isn’t it, 
who keeps the keys of Paradise.” 

“It is St. Peter. ” 

“Well, you will say to him, to St. Peter, if he 
wants to shut the door in my face under the 
pretence that I did not go to mass, you will 
say to him, ‘Bah! let him in all the same. It 
is Bernard, one of the farmers of Madame la 
Marquise, an honest man. He was Common 
Councilman, and he voted for the maintenance 
of the sisters when they were going to be ex- 
pelled from the village school.’ That will 
touch St. Peter, who will answer, ‘Well, well, 
you may pass, Bernard, but it is only to please 
Monsieur le Cure. ’ For you will be Monsieur 
le Cure up there, and Cure of Longueval too, 
for Paradise itself would be dull for you if you 
must give up being Cure of Longueval. ” 

Cure of Longueval! Yes, all his life he had 
been nothing but Cure of Longueval, had 
never dreamed of anything else, and never 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


9 


wished to be anything- else. Three or four 
times excellent livings, with one or two cur- 
ates, had been offered to him, but he had 
always refused them. He had loved his little 
church, his little village, his little vicarage. 
There he had it all to himself, saw to every- 
thing himself; calm, tranquil, he went and 
came, summer and winter, in sunshine or 
storm, in wind or rain. His frame became 
hardened by fatigue and exposure, but his 
soul remained gentle, tender and pure. 

He lived in his vicarage, which was only a 
laborer’s cottage separated from the church 
by the church-yard. When the Cure mounted 
the ladder to train his pear and peach trees, 
over the top of the wall he perceived the 
graves over which he had said the last prayer, 
and cast the first spadeful of earth. Then, 
while continuing his work, he said in his heart 
a little prayer for the repose of those among 
his dead whose fate disturbed him, and who 
might be still detained in purgatory. He had 
a tranquil and childlike faith. 

But among these graves there was one which 
oftener than all the others received his visits 
and his prayers. It was the tomb of his old 
friend Dr. Reynaud, who had died in his arms 
in 1871, and under what circumstances! The 
doctor had been like Bernard ; he never went 
to mass or to confession ; but he was so good, 
so charitable, so compassionate to the suffer- 
ing. This was the cause of the Cure’s great 
anxiety, of his great solicitude. His friend 
Reynaud, where was he? Where was he? 


10 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Then he called to mind the noble life of the 
country doctor, all made up of courage and 
self-denial; he recalled his death, above all his 
death, and said to himself: 

“In Paradise; he can be nowhere but in 
Paradise. The good God may have sent him 
to purgatory just for form’s sake — but He 
must have delivered him after five minutes. ” 

All this passed through the mind of the old 
man, as he continued his walk toward Sou- 
vigny. He was going to the town, to the 
solicitor of the Marquise, to inquire the result 
of the sale, to learn who were to be the new 
masters of the castle of Longueval. The 
Abbe had still about a mile to walk before 
reaching the first houses of Souvigny, and was 
passing the park of Lavardens, when he heard 
above his head voices calling to him. 

“Monsieur le Cure, Monsieur le Cure. ” 

At this spot adjoining the wall, a long alley 
of lime-trees bordered the terrace, and the 
Abbe, raising his head, perceived Madame de 
Lavardens and her son Paul. 

“Where are you going, Monsieur le Cure?’* 
asked the Countess. 

“To Souvigny, to the Tribunal to learn ” 

“Stay here — Monsieur de Larnac is coming 
after the sale, to tell me the result.” 

The Abbe Constantin joined them on the 
terrace. 

Gertrude de Lannilis, Countess de Lavar- 
dens, had been very unfortunate. At eight- 
een, she had been guilty of a folly, the only 
one of her life, but that one — irreparable. She 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


11 


had married for love, in a burst of enthusiasm 
and exaltation, M. de Lavardens, one of the 
most fascinating and brilliant men of his time. 
He did not love her, and only married from 
necessity. He had devoured his patrimonial 
fortune to the very last farthing, and for two 
or three years had supported himself by vari- 
ous expedients. Mademoiselle de Lannilis 
knew all that, and had no illusions on these 
points, but she said to herself: 

“I will love him so much, that he will end 
by loving me. ” 

Hence all her misfortunes. Her existence 
might have been tolerable if she had not loved 
her husband so much, but she loved him too 
much. She had only succeeded in wearying 
him by her importunities and tenderness. 
He returned to his former life, which had been 
most irregular. Fifteen years had passed 
thus, in a long martyrdom, supported by 
Madame de Lavardens with all the appearance 
of passive resignation. Nothing ever could 
distract her from, or cure her of. the love 
which was destroying her. 

M. de Lavardens died in 1869. He left a 
son fourteen years of age, in whom were 
already visible all the defects and all the good 
qualities of his father. Without being seri- 
ously affected, the fortune of Madame de 
Lavardens was slightly compromised, slightly 
diminished. Madame de Lavardens sold her 
mansion in Paris, retired to the country, where 
she lived with strict economy, and devoted her- 
self to the education of her son. 


12 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


But here again grief and disappointment 
awaited her. Paul de Lavardens was intelli- 
gent, amiable, and affectionate, but thoroughly 
rebellious against any constraint and any 
species of work. He drove to despair three or 
four tutors, who vainly endeavored to force 
something serious into his head, went up to 
the Military College of Saint-Cyr, failed at the 
examination, and began to devour in Paris, 
with all the haste and folly possible, two or 
three hundred thousand francs. 

That done, he enlisted in the first regiment 
of the Chasseurs d’Afrique, and in the very 
beginning of his military career had the good 
fortune to make one of an exeditionary column 
sent into the Sahara, distinguished himself, 
soon became quartermaster, and at the end of 
three years was about to be appointed sub- 
lieutenant when he was captivated by a young 
person who played the “Fille de Madame 
Angot” at the theater in Algiers. 

Paul had finished his time ; he quitted the 
service, and went to Paris with his charmer. 

. . . Then it was a dancer. . . . Then it was 
an actress. . . . Then a circus-rider. He 
tried life in every form. He led the brilliant 
and miserable existence of the unoccupied. 

But it was only three or four months that he 
passed in Paris each year. His mother made 
him an allowance of thirty thousand francs, 
and had declared to him, that never, while she 
lived, should he have another penny before 
his marriage. He knew his mother ; he knew 
he must consider her words as serious. Thus, 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


13 


wishing to make a good figure in Paris, and 
lead a merry life, he spent his thirty thousand 
francs in three months, and then docilely re- 
turned to Lavardens, where he was “out at 
grass.” He spent his time hunting, fishing, 
and riding with the officers of the artillery 
regiment quartered at Souvigny. The little 
provincial milliners and “grisettes” replaced, 
without rendering him oblivious of, the little 
singers and actresses of Paris. By searching 
for them, one may still find grisettes in 
country towns, and Paul de Lavardens sought 
assiduously. 

As soon as the Cure had reached Madame 
de Lavardens, she said: 

“Without waiting for M. de Larnac, I can 
tell you the names of the purchasers of the 
domain of Longueval. I am quite easy on the 
subject, and have no doubt of the success of 
our plan. In order to avoid any foolish dis- 
putes, we have agreed among ourselves; that 
is, between our neighbor M. de Larnac, M. 
Gallard, a great Parisian banker, and myself. 
M. de Larnac will have La Mionne, M. Gal- 
lard the castle and Blanche-Couronne, and I — 
la Rozeraie. I know you, Monsieur le Cure, 
— you will be anxious about your poor; but 
comfort yourself. These Gallards are rich, and 
will give you plenty of money. ” 

At this moment a cloud of dust appeared on 
the road, from it emerged a carriage. 

“Here comes M. de Larnac!” cried Paul; 
“I know his ponies!” 

All three hurriedly descended from the ter- 


14 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


race and returned to the castle. They arrived 
there just as M. de Larnac’s carriage drove 
up to the entrance. 

“Well?” asked Madame de Lavardens. 

“Well!” replied M. de Larnac, “we have 
nothing. ” 

“What? Nothing?” cried Madame de La- 
vardens, very pale and agitated. 

“Nothing, nothing; absolutely nothing — the 
one or the other of us.” 

And M. de Larnac, springing from his car- 
riage, related what had taken place at the sale 
before the Tribunal of Souvigny. 

“At first,” he said, “everything went upon 
wheels. The castle went to M. Gallard for six 
hundred and fifty thousand francs. No com- 
petitor — a rise of fifty francs had been suffi- 
cient. On the other hand, there was a little 
battle for Blanche-Couronne. The bids rose 
from five hundred thousand francs, to five hun- 
dred and twenty thousand francs, and again 
M. Gallard was victorious. Another and more 
animated battle for La Rozeraie; at last it was 
knocked down to you, Madame, for four hun- 
dred and fifty-five thousand francs. ... I got 
the forest of La Mionne without opposition at 
a rise of one hundred francs. All seemed over, 
those present had risen, our solicitors were 
surrounded with persons asking the names of 
the purchasers. 

“M. Brazier, the judge intrusted with the 
sale, desired silence, and the bailiff of the 
court offered the four lots together for two 
million one hundred and fifty or sixty thousand 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


15 


francs, I don’t remember which. A murmur 
passed through the assembly. ‘No one will 
bid’ was heard on all sides. But little Gibert, 
the solicitor, who was seated in the first row, 
and till then had given no sign of life, rose 
and said calmly, ‘I have a purchaser for the 
four lots together at two millions two hundred 
thousand francs.’ This was like a thunderbolt. 
A tremendous clamor arose, followed by a 
dead silence. The hall was filled with farmers 
and laborers from the neighborhood. Two 
million francs! So much money for the land 
threw them into a sort of respectful stupor. 
However, M. Gallard bending toward San- 
drier, the solicitor who had bid for him, whis- 
pered something in his ear. The struggle began 
between Gibert and Sandrier. The bids rose 
to two millions five hundred thousand francs. 
M. Gallard hesitated for a moment — decided — 
continued up to three millions. Then he 
stopped, and the whole went to Gibert. Every 
one rushed on him, they surrounded — they 
crushed him, ‘The name, the name of the pur- 
chaser?’ — ‘It is an American,’ replied Gibert, 
‘Mrs. Scott.’ ” 

“Mrs. Scott!” cried Paul de Lavardens. 

“You know her?” asked Madame de Lavar- 
dens. 

“Do I know her? — do I — not at all. But I 
was at a ball at her house six weeks ago.” 

“At a ball at her house! and you don’t know 
her? What sort of a woman is she, then?” 

“Charming, delightful, ideal, a miracle!” 

“And is there a Mr. Scott?” 


16 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Certainly, a tall, fair man. He was at her 
ball, they pointed him out to me. He bowed 
at random right and left. He was not much 
amused, I will answer for it. He looked at us 
as if he were thinking, ‘Who are all these 
people? What are they doing at my house?’ 
We went to see Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival, 
her sister. And certainly it was well worth 
the trouble.” 

“These Scotts,” said Madame de Lavardens, 
addressing M. de Larnac, “do you know who 
they are?’’’ 

“Yes, Madame, I know. Mr. Scott is an 
American, possessing a colossal fortune, who 
settled himself in Paris last year. As soon as 
their name was mentioned, I understood that 
the victory had never been doubtful. Gallard 
was beaten beforehand. The Scotts began by 
buying a house in Paris for two million francs; 
it is near the Parc Monceau. ’’ 

“Yes, Rue Murillo,” said Paul; “I tell you 
I went to a ball there. It was — ” 

“Let M. de Larnac speak. You can tell us 
presently about the ball at Mrs. Scott’s.” 

“Well, now, imagine my Americans estab- 
lished in Paris,” continued M. de Larnac, “and 
the showers of gold begun. In the orthodox 
parvenu style they amuse themselves with 
throwing handfuls of gold out of window. 
Their great wealth is quite recent, they say; 
ten years ago Mrs. Scott begged in the streets 
of New York.” 

“Begged!” 

“They say so. Then she married this Scott, 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


17 


the son of a New York banker, and all at once 
a successful lawsuit put into their hands not 
millions, but tens of millions. Somewhere in 
America they have a silver mine, but a genu- 
ine mine, a real mine — a mine with silver in it. 
Ah! we shall see what luxury will reign at 
Longue val! We shall all look like paupers 
beside them! It is said that they have one 
hundred thousand francs a day to spend.” 

‘‘Such are our neighbors!” cried Madame de 
Lavardens. ‘‘An adventuress! and that is the 
least of it — a heretic, Monsieur l’Abbe, a Prot- 
estant!” 

A heretic ! a Protestant ! Poor Cure ; it was 
indeed that of which he had immediately 
thought on hearing the words, ‘‘An American, 
Mrs. Scott.” The new chatelaine of Lon- 
gue val would not go to mass. What did it mat- 
ter to him that she had been a beggar? What 
did it matter to him if she possessed her tens 
and tens of millions? She was not a Catholic. 
He would never again baptize children born at 
Longueval ; and the chapel in the castle, where 
he had so often said mass, would be trans- 
formed into a Protestant oratory, which would 
echo only the frigid utterances of a Calvinistic 
or Lutheran pastor. 

Every one was distressed, disappointed, 
overwhelmed; but in the midst of the general 
depression Paul stood radiant. 

“A charming heretic, at all events,” said he, 
“or rather two charming heretics. You should 
see the two sisters on horseback in the Bois, 


2 Abbe Constantin 


18 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


with two little grooms behind them not higher 
than that.” 

“Come, Paul, tell us all you know. De- 
scribe the ball of which you speak. How did 
you happen to go to a ball at these Ameri- 
cans?” 

“By the greatest chance. My aunt Valen- 
tine was at home that night; I looked in about 
ten o’clock. Well, aunt Valentine’s Wednes- 
days are not exactly scenes of wild enjoyment, 
give you my word! I had been there about 
twenty minutes when I caught sight of Roger 
de Puymartin escaping furtively. I caught 
him in the hall, and said: 

“ 4 We will go home together.’ 

“ ‘Oh! I am not going home.’ 

“ ‘Where are you going?’ 

“ ‘To the ball.’ 

“ ‘Where?’ 

“ ‘At Mrs. Scott’s. Will you come?’ 

“ ‘But I have not been invited.’ 

“ ‘Neither have I. ’ 

“ ‘What! not invited?’ 

“ ‘No, I am going with one of my friends.’ 

“ ‘And does your friend know them?’ 

“ ‘Scarcely; but enough to introduce us. 
Come along; you will see Mrs. Scott.’ 

“ ‘Oh! I have seen her, on horseback in the 
Bois. ’ 

“ ‘But she does not wear a low gown on 
horseback; you have not seen her shoulders, 
and they are shoulders which ought to be seen. 
There is nothing better in Paris at this mo- 
ment. ’ 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


1 £ 


“And I went to the ball, and I saw Mrs. 
Scott’s red hair, and I saw Mrs. Scott’s white 
shoulders, and I hope to see them again when 
there are balls at Longueval. " 

“Paul!” said Madame de Lavardens, point- 
ing to the Abbe. 

“Oh! Monsieur l’Abbe, I beg a thousand 
pardons. Have I said anything? I seems to 
me — ’’ 

The poor old priest had heard nothing; his 
thoughts were elsewhere. Already he saw, in 
the village streets, the Protestant pastor from 
the castle stopping before each house, and slip- 
ping under the doors little evangelical tracts. 
Continuing his account, Paul launched into an 
enthusiastic description of the mansion, which 
was a marvel — 

“Of bad taste and ostentation," interrupted 
Madame de Lavardens. 

“ Not at all, mother, not at all ; nothing start- 
ling, nothing loud. It is admirably furnished, 
everything done with elegance and originality. 
An incomparable conservatory, flooded with 
electric light; the buffet was placed in the 
conservatory under a vine laden with grapes, 
which one could gather by handfuls, and in the 
month of April! The accessories of the cotil- 
lon cost, it appears, more than forty thousand 
francs. Ornaments, bonbonnieres, delicious 
trifles, and we were begged to accept them. 
For my part I took nothing, but there were 
many who made no scruple. That evening 
Puymartin told me Mrs. Scott’s history, but it 
was not at all like M. de Larnac’s story. 


20 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Roger said that, when quite little, Mrs. Scott 
had been stolen from her family by some 
acrobats, and that her father had found her in 
a traveling circus, riding on bare-backed horses 
and jumping through paper hoops. ’ ’ 

“A circus-rider!” cried Madame de Lavar- 
dens; “I should have preferred the beggar. ” 

“And while Roger was telling me this Petit 
Journal romance, I saw approaching from the 
end of a gallery a wonderful cloud of lace and 
satin ; it surrounded this rider from a wander- 
ing circus, and I admired those shoulders, 
those dazzling shoulders, on which undulated 
a necklace of diamonds as big as the stopper of 
a decanter. They say that the Minister of 
Finance had sold secretly to Mrs. Scott half 
the crown diamonds, and that that was how, 
the month before, he had been able to show a 
surplus of fifteen hundred thousand francs in 
the budget. Add to all this that the little 
acrobat had an air of good breeding, and 
seemed perfectly at home in the midst of all 
this splendor.” 

Paul was going so far that his mother was 
obliged to stop him. Before M. de Lamac, 
who was excessively annoyed and disappointed, 
he showed too plainly his delight at the pros- 
pect of having this marvelous American for a 
near neighbor. 

The Abbe Constantin was preparing to re- 
turn to Longueval, but Paul, seeing him ready 
to start, said: 

“No! no! Monsieur le Cure, you must not 
think of walking back to Longueval in the 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN’. 


21 


heat of the day. Allow me to drive you home. 
I am really grieved to see you so east down, 
and will try my best to amuse you. Oh ! if you 
were ten times a saint I would make you laugh 
at my stories. * ’ 

And half an hour after, the two— the Cure 
and Paul — drove side by side in the direction 
of the village. Paul talked, talked, talked 
His mother was not there to check or moderate 
his transports, and his joy was overflowing. 

“Now, look here, Monsieur I* Abbe, you are 
wrong to take things in this tragic manner. 
. . . Stay, look at my little mare, how well she 
trots! what good action she has! You have not 
seen her before? What do you think I paid for 
her? Four hundred francs. I discovered her 
a fortnight ago, between the shafts of a mar- 
ket-gardener’s cart. She is a treasure. I as- 
sure you she can do sixteen miles an hour, and 
keep one’s hands full all the time. Just see 
how she pulls. Come, tot tot, tot! You are 
not in a hurry Monsieur l’Abbe, I hope. Let 
us return through the wood; the fresh air will 
do you good. Oh, Monsieur l’Abbe, if you 
only knew what a regard I have for you, and 
respect too! I did not talk too much non- 
sense before you just now, did I? I should be 
so sorry — ” 

“No, my child, I heard nothing.*' 

“Well, we will take the longest way round.’* 
After having turned to the left in the wood, 
Paul resumed his subject 
“I was saying, Monsieur l’Abbe,” he went 
on, “that you are wrong to take things so seri- 


22 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


ously. Shall I tell you what I think? This is 
a very fortunate affair,” 

“Very fortunate?” 

“Yes, very fortunate. I would rather see 
the Scotts at Longueval than the Gallards. 
Did you not hear Monsieur de Larnac re- 
proach these Americans with spending their 
money foolishly. The folly lies in keeping it. 
Your poor — for I am perfectly sure that it is 
your poor of whom you are thinking — your poor 
have made a good thing of it to-day. That is 
my opinion. The religion? Well, they will 
not go to mass, and that will be a grief to you, 
that is only natural ; but they will send you 
money, plenty of money, and you will take it, 
and you will be quite right in doing so. You 
will see that you will not say no. There will 
be gold raining over the whole place; a move- 
ment, a bustle, carriages with four horses, pos- 
tillions, powdered footmen, paper chases, hunt- 
ing-parties, balls, fireworks, and here in this 
very spot I shall perhaps find Paris again be- 
fore long. I shall see once more the two riders 
and the two little grooms of whom I was speak- 
ing just now. If you only knew how well those 
two sisters look on horseback! One morning 
I went right round the Bois de Boulogne be- 
hind them ; I fancy I can see them still. They 
had high hats, and little black veils drawn very 
tightly over their faces, and long riding-habits 
made in the princess form, with a single seam 
right down the back; and a woman must be 
awfully well made to wear a riding-habit like 
that because, you see, Monsieur l’Abbe, with 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


23 


a habit of that cut there is no deception pos- 
sible. ” 

For some moments the Cure had not been 
listening to Paul’s discourse. They had entered 
a long, perfectly straight avenue, and at the 
end of this avenue the Cure saw a horseman 
galloping along. 

“Look,” said the Cure to Paul, “your eyes 
are better than mine; is not that Jean?” 

“Yes, it is Jean. I know his gray mare ” 

Paul loved horses, and before looking at the 
rider looked at the horse. It was indeed Jean, 
who, when he saw in the distance the Cure 
and Paul de Lavardens, waved in the air his 
kepi, adorned with two golden stripes. Jean 
was lieutenant in the regiment of artillery 
quartered at Sou vigny. 

Some moments after he stopped by the little 
carriage, and, addressing the Cure, said : 

“I have just been to your house, mon parrain. 
Pauline told me that you had gone to Sou- 
vigny about the sale. Well, who has bought 
the castle?” 

“An American — Mrs. Scott.” 

“And Blanche-Couronne?” 

“The same Mrs. Scott.” 

“And La Rozeraie?” 

“Mrs. Scott again.” 

“And the forest? Mrs. Scott again?” 

“You have said it,” replied Paul; “and I 
know Mrs Scott, and I can promise you that 
there will be something going on at Longue- 
val. I will introduce you. Only it is distress- 


24 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


in g to Monsieur l’Abbe because she is an 
American — a Protestant.” 

“Ah! that is true,” said Jean, sympathiz- 
ing! y. ‘‘However, we will talk about it to- 
morrow. I am going to dine with you, god- 
father; I have warned Pauline of my visit; no 
time to stop to-day. I am on duty, and must 
be in quarters at three o’clock.” 

‘‘Stables?” asked Paul. 

‘‘Yes. Good-by, Paul. To-morrow, god- 
father.” 

The lieutenant galloped away. Paul de 
Lavardens gave his little horse her head. 

‘‘What a capital fellow Jean is!” said Paul. 

“Oh, yes, indeed.” 

“There is no one on earth better than Jean. ” 

“No, no one.” 

The Cure turned round to take another look 
at Jean, who was almost lost in the depths of 
the forest. 

“Oh, yes there is, — you, Monsieur le Cure. ” 

“No, not I! not I!” 

“Well, Monsieur l’Abbe, shall I tell you 
what I think? — I think there is no one better 
than you two — you and Jean. That is the 
truth, if I must tell you. Oh, what a splendid 
place for a trot! I shall let Niniche go; I call 
her Niniche. ” 

With the tip of his whip Paul caressed 
the flank of Niniche, who started off at full 
speed, and Paul, delighted, cried: 

“Just look at her action, Monsieur l’Abbe! 
Just look at her action ! So regular — just like 
clock-work. Lean over and look.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


25 


To please Paul de Lavardens the Abbe 
Constantin did lean over and look at Niniche’s 
action, but the old priest’s thoughts were far 
away. 


26 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


CHAPTER II. 

This sub-lieutenant of artillery was called 
Jean Reynaud. He was the son of a country 
doctor who lay in the churchyard of Longue- 
val. 

In 1846, when the Abbe Constantin took 
possession of his little living, the grandfather 
of Jean was residing in a pleasant cottage on 
the road to Souvigny, between the castles of 
Longueval and Lavardens. 

Marcel, the son of that Dr. Reynaud, was 
finishing his medical studies in Paris. He pos- 
sessed great industry, and an elevation of sen- 
timent and mind extremely rare. He passed 
his examinations with great distinction, and 
had decided to fix his abode in Paris and tempt 
fortune there ; and everything seemed to prom- 
ise him the most prosperous and brilliant 
career, when in 1852 he received the news of 
his father’s death — he had been struck down 
by a fit of apoplexy. Marcel hurried to Lon- 
gueval overwhelmed with grief, for he adored 
his father. Tie spent a month with his 
mother, and then spoke of the necessity of re- 
turning to Paris. 

“That is true," said his mother; “you must 
go.” 

“What! I must go! We must go, you mean. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


27 


Do you think that I would leave you here 
alone? I shall take you with me. ” 

“To live in Paris? To leave the place where 
I was born, where your father lived, where he 
died? I could never do it, my child, never! 
Go alone; your life, your future, are there. 
I know you ; I know that you will never forget 
me, that you will come and see me often, very 
often. ” 

“No, mother,” he answered; “I will stay 
here. ” 

And he stayed. 

His hopes, his ambitions, all in one moment 
vanished. He saw only one thing — duty — the 
duty of not abandoning his aged mother. In 
this duty simply accepted and simply dis- 
charged, he found happiness. After all, it is 
only thus that one does find happiness. 

Marcel bowed with courage and good grace 
to his new existence. He continued his 
father’s life, entering the groove at the very 
spot where he had left it. He devoted himself 
without regret to the obscure career of a 
country doctor. His father had left him a 
little land and a little money; he lived in the 
simplest manner possible, and one-half of his 
life belonged to the poor, from whom he would 
never receive a penny. 

This was his only luxury. 

He found in his way a young girl, charming, 
penniless, and alone in the world. He married 
her. This was in 1855, and the following year 
brought to Dr. Reynaud a great sorrow and a 


28 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


great joy, — the death of his old mother and 
the birth of his son Jean. 

At an interval of six weeks, the Abbe Con- 
stantin recited the prayers for the dead over 
the grave of the grandmother, and was present 
in the position of godfather at the baptism of 
the grandson. 

In consequence of constantly meeting at the 
bedside of the suffering and dying, the priest 
and the doctor had been strongly attracted to 
each other. They instinctively felt that they 
belonged to the same family, the same race, — 
the race of the tender, the just, and the be- 
nevolent. 

Year followed year — calm, peaceful, fully 
occupied in labor and duty. Jean was no 
longer a child. His father gave him his first 
lessons in reading and writing, the priest his 
first lessons in Latin. Jean was intelligent 
and industrious. He made so much progress 
that the two teachers — particularly the Cure 
— found themselves at the end of a few years 
rather cast into the shade by their pupil. It 
was at this moment that the Countess, after 
the death of her husband, came to settle at 
Lavardens. She brought with her a tutor for 
her son Paul, who was a very nice but very 
lazy little fellow. The two children were of 
the same age; they had known each other 
from their earliest years. 

Madame de Lavardens had a great regard 
for Dr. Reynaud, and one day she made him 
the following proposal: 

“Send Jean to me every morning,” said 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


29 


she; “I will send him home in the even- 
ing.” 

“Paul’s tutor is a very accomplished man; he 
will make the children work together. It will 
be rendering me a real service. Jean will set 
Paul a good example.” 

Things were thus arranged, and the little 
bourgeois set the little nobleman a most excel- 
lent example of industry and application ; but 
this excellent example was not followed. 

The war broke out. On November 14, at 
seven o’clock in the morning, the “Reserves” 
of Souvigny assembled in the great square of 
the town ; their chaplain was the Abbe Con- 
stantin, their surgeon-major Dr. Reynaud. 
The same idea had come at the same mo- 
ment to both, the priest was sixty-two, the 
doctor fifty. 

When they started, the battalion followed 
the road which led through Longueval, and 
passed before the doctor’s house. Madame 
Reynaud and Jean were waiting by the road- 
side. 

The child threw himself into his father’s 
arms. 

“Take me too, papa! take me too!” 

Madame Reynaud wept. The doctor held 
them both in a long embrace ; then he con- 
tinued his way. 

A hundred steps further the road made a 
sharp curve. The doctor turned, cast one 
long look at his wife and child — the last; he 
was never to see them again. 

On January 8, 1871, the troops of Souvigny 


30 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


attacked the village of Villersexel, occupied by 
the Prussians, who had barricaded themselves. 
The firing began. A soldier who marched in 
the front rank received a ball in the chest and 
fell. There was a short moment of trouble 
and hesitation. 

“Forward! forward!” shouted the officers. 

The men passed over the body of their com- 
rade, and under a hail of bullets entered the 
town. 

Dr. Reynaud and the Abbe Constantin 
marched with the troops; they halted near the 
wounded man; the blood was rushing in 
floods from his mouth. 

“There is nothing to be done,” said the 
doctor. “He is dying; he belongs to you. ” 

The priest knelt down by the dying man, 
and the doctor rose to go toward the village. 

He had not taken ten steps when he 
stopped, beat the air with both hands, and fell 
all at once to the ground. The priest ran to 
him ; he was dead — killed on the spot by a 
bullet through the temples. That evening 
the village was ours, and the next day they 
placed in the cemetery of Villersexel the body 
of Dr. Reynaud. 

Two months later the Abbe Constantin took 
back to Longueval the coffin of his friend, and 
behind the coffin when it was carried from the 
church walked an orphan. Jean had also 
lost his mother. At the news of her hus- 
band’s death Madame Reynaud had remained 
for twenty-four hours overwhelmed, crushed, 
without a word or a tear; then fever had 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


31 


seized her, then delirium, and after a fortnight, 
death. 

Jean was alone in the world; he was four- 
teen years old. Of that family, where for 
more than a century all had been good and 
honest, there remained only a child kneeling 
beside a grave; but he, too, promised to be 
what his father and his grandfather before 
him had been, — good and honest and true. 

There are families like that in France, and 
many of them, more than one ventures to say. 
Our poor country is in many respects cruelly 
calumniated by certain novelists, who draw 
exaggerated and distorted pictures of it. It is 
true the history of good people is often mo- 
notonous or painful. This story is a proof 
of it. 

The grief of Jean was the grief of a man. 
He remained long sad and long silent. The 
evening of his father’s funeral the Abbe Con- 
stantin took him home to the vicarage. The 
day had been rainy and cold. Jean was sit- 
ting by the fireside; the priest was reading his 
breviary opposite him. Old Pauline came and 
went, attending to her duties. 

An hour passed without a word, when Jean, 
raising his head, said: 

“Godfather, did my father leave me any 
money?” 

This question was so extraordinary that the 
old priest, stupefied, could scarcely believe 
that he heard aright. 

“You ask if your father — ” 

“I asked if my father left me some money?” 


32 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Yes; he must have left you some.” 

“A good deal, don’t you think? I have often 
heard people sa} y that my father was rich. 
Tell me about how much he has left me. ’’ 

“But I don’t know. You ask — ’’ 

The poor old man felt his heart rent in 
twain. Such a question at such a moment! 
Yet he thought he knew the boy’s heart, and 
in that heart there should not be room for such 
thoughts. 

“Pray, dear godfather, tell me,’’ continued 
Jean gently. “I will explain to you afterward 
why I ask that.” 

“Well, they say your father had two or three 
hundred thousand francs.’’ 

“And is that much?’’ 

“Yes, it is a great deal. ’’ 

“And is it all mine?’’ 

“Yes, it is all yours. ’’ 

“Oh! I am glad, because, you know, the day 
that my father was killed in the war, the 
Prussians killed at the same time the son of a 
poor woman in Longue val, — old Clemence, 
you know; and they killed, too, Rosalie’s 
brother, whom I used to play with when I was 
quite little. Well, since I am rich and they 
are poor, I will divide with Clemence and Rosa- 
lie the money my father has left me.” 

On hearing these words the Cure rose, took 
Jean by both hands, and drew him into his 
arms. The white head rested on the fair one. 
Two large tears escaped from the old priest’s 
eyes, rolled slowly down his cheeks, and were 
lost in the furrows of his face. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


33 


However, the Cure was obliged to explain 
to Jean that, though he was his father’s heir, 
he had not the right of disposing of his heri- 
tage as he would. There would be a family 
council, and a guardian would be appointed. 

“You, no doubt, godfather?” 

“No, not I, my child; a priest is not 
allowed to exercise the functions of a guar- 
dian. They will, I think, choose M. Lenient, 
the lawyer in Souvignv, who was one of your 
father’s best friends. You can speak to him 
and tell him what you wish. ” 

M. Lenient was eventually appointed guar- 
dian, and Jean urged his wishes so eagerly and 
touchingly that the lawyer consented to deduct 
from the income a sum of two thousand four 
hundred francs, which, every year till Jean 
came of age, was divided between old Clem- 
ence and little Rosalie. 

In these circumstances Madame de Lavar- 
dens was perfect. She went to the Abbe and 
said: 

“Give Jean to me, give him to me entirely 
till he has finished his studies. I will bring 
him back to ) r ou every year during the holi- 
days. It is not a service I am rendering you; 
it is a service which I ask of you. I cannot 
imagine any greater good fortune for my son 
than to have Jean for a companion. I must 
resign myself to leaving Lavardens for a time. 
Paul is bent upon being a soldier and going up 
to Saint-Cyr. It is only in Paris that I can 
obtain the necessary masters. I will take the 
two boys there ; they will study together under 

3 Abbe Constantin 


34 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


my own eyes like brothers, and I will make no 
difference between them ; of that you may be 
sure. ” 

It was difficult to refuse such an offer. The 
old Cure would have dearly liked to keep Jean 
with him, and his heart was torn at the thought 
of the separation; but what was for the child’s 
real interest? That was the only question to 
be considered; the rest was nothing. They 
summoned Jean. 

“My child,” said Madame de Lavardens to 
him, “will you come and live with Paul and 
me for some years? I will take you both to 
Paris. ' * 

“You are very kind, Madame, but I should 
have liked so much to stay here.” 

He looked at the Cure, who turned away his 
eyes. 

“Why must we go?” he continued. “Why 
must you take Paul and me away? - ” 

“Because it is only in Paris that you can 
have all the advantages necessary to complete 
your studies. Paul will prepare for his ex-- 
amination at Saint-Cyr. You know he wants 
to be a soldier. ” 

“So do I, Madame. I wish to be one too.” 

“You a soldier !” exclaimed the Cure; “but 
you know that was not at all your father’s idea. 
In my presence he has often spoken of yr>ur 
future, your career. You were to be a doctor, 
and like him, doctor at Longueval, and like 
him, devote yourself to the sick and the poor. 
Jean, my child, do you remember?” 

“I remember; I remember.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


35 


“Well, then, Jean, you must do as your 
father wished: it is your duty, Jean; it is your 
duty. You must go to Paris. You would like 
to stay here, I understand that well, and I 
should like it too; but it cannot be. You must 
go to Paris, and work, work hard. Not that 
I am anxious about that; you are your father’s 
true son. You will be an honest and indus- 
trious man. One cannot well be the one with- 
out the other. And some day, in your father’s 
house, in the place where he has done so much 
good, the poor people of the country round 
will find another Dr. Reynaud, to whom they 
may look for help. And I, — if by chance I am 
still in this world, — when that day comes, I 
shall be so happy! But I am wrong to speak 
of myself ; I ought not, I do not count. It is 
of your father that you must think. I repeat 
it, Jean, it was his dearest wish. You cannot 
have forgotten it.” 

“No, I have not forgotten; but if my father 
sees me, and hears me, I am certain that he 
understands and forgives me, for it is on his 
account. ” 

“On his account?” 

“Yes. When I heard that he was dead, and 
when I heard how he died, all at once, with- 
out any need of reflection, I said to myself that 
I would be a soldier; and I will be a soldier! 
Godfather, and you, Madame, I beg you not to 
prevent me. ” 

The child burst into tears — a perfect flood of 
passionate tears. The Countess and the Abbe 
soothed him with gentle words. 


36 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Yes — yes — it is settled,” they said; “ any- 
thing that you wish, all that you wish.” 

Both had the same thought, — leave it to 
time; Jean is only a child; he will change his 
mind. 

In this both were mistaken; Jean did not 
change his mind. In the month of September, 
1876, Paul de Lavardens was rejected at Saint- 
Cyr, and Jean Reynaud passed eleventh at the 
Ecole Polytechnique. The day when the list 
of the candidates who had passed was pub- 
lished he wrote to the Abbe Constantin : 

“I have passed, and passed too well, for I 
want to go into the army, and not the Civil 
Service; however, if I keep my place in the 
school, that will be the good fortune of one of 
my comrades: he will have my chance.” 

It happened so in the end. Jean Reynaud 
did better than keep his place; the pass list 
showed his name seventh, but instead of enter- 
ing “P Ecole des Ponts et Chaussees,” he 
entered the military college at Fontainebleau 
in 1878. 

He was then just twenty-one ; he was of age, 
master of his fortune, and the first act of the 
new administration was a great, a very great 
piece of extravagance. He bought for old 
Clemence and little Rosalie two shares in 
government stock of fifteen hundred francs a 
year each. That cost him 70,000 francs, almost 
the sum that Paul de Lavardens, in his first 
year of liberty in Paris, spent for Mademoiselle 
Lise Bruyere, of the Palais Royal theater. 

Two years later Jean passed first at the ex- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


37 


animation, and left Fontainebleau with the 
right of choosing among the vacant places. 
There was one in the regiment quartered at 
Souvigny, and Souvigny was three miles from 
Longueval. Jean asked for this, and ob- 
tained: it. 

^Thus Jean Reynaud, lieutenant in the ninth 
regiment of artillery, came in the month of 
October, 1880, to take possession of the house 
that had been his father’s; thus he found him- 
self once more in the place where his childhood 
had passed, and where every one had kept 
green the memory of the life and death of his 
father; thus the Abbe Constantin was not 
denied the happiness of once again having 
near him the son of his old friend, and, if the 
truth must be told, he no longer wished that 
Jean had become a doctor. 

When the old Cure left his church after say- 
ing mass, when he saw coming along the road 
a great cloud of dust, when he felt the earth 
tremble under the rumbling cannon, he would 
stop, and like a child amuse himself with see- 
ing the regiment pass; but to him the regi- 
ment was — Jean. It was this robust and manly 
cavalier, in whose face, as in an open book, 
one read uprightness, courage, and goodness. 

The moment Jean perceived the Cure he 
would put his horse to a gallop, and go to have 
a little chat with his godfather. The horse 
would turn his head toward the Cure, for he 
knew very well there was always a piece of 
sugar for him in the pocket of that old black 
soutane — rusty and worn — the morning soutane. 


38 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


The Abbe Constantin had a beautiful new one 
of which he took great care, to wear in society 
— when he went into society. 

The trumpets of the regiment sounded as 
they passed through the village, and all eyes 
sought Jean — “Little Jean” for to the old 
people of Longueval .he was still little Jean. 
Certain wrinkled, broken down, old peasants 
had never been able to break themselves of 
the habit of saluting him when he passed with, 
“Bonjour, gamin, ca va bien?” 

He was six feet high, this “gamin,” and 
Jean never crossed the village without perceiv- 
ing at one window the old furrowed parch- 
ment skin of Clemence, and at another the 
smiling countenance of Rosalie. The latter 
had married during the previous year, Jean 
had given her away, and joyously on the wed- 
ding night had he danced with the girls of 
Longueval. 

Such was the lieutenant of artillery, who on 
Saturday, May 28, 1881, at half-past four in 
the afternoon, sprang from his horse before 
the door of the vicarage of Longueval. He 
entered the gate, the horse obediently fol- 
lowed, and went by himself into a little shed 
in the yard. Pauline was at the kitchen win- 
dow; Jean approached and kissed her heartily 
on both cheeks. 

“Good-evening, Pauline. Is all well?” 

“Very well. I am busy preparing your din- 
ner; would you like to know what you are 
going to have? — potato soup, a leg of inutton, 
and a custard. ” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


39 


“That is excellent : I shall enjoy everything, 
for I am dying of hunger.” 

“And a salad; I had forgotten it; you can 
help me cut it directly. Dinner will be at 
half-past six exactly, for at half-past seven 
Monsieur le Cure has his service for the month 
of Mary.” 

“Where is my godfather?” 

“You will find him in the garden. He is 
very sad on account of yesterday’s sale.” 

“Yes, I know, I know.” 

“It will cheer him a little to see you; he is 
always so happy when you are here. Take 
care; Loulou is going to eat the climbing 
roses. How hot he is!” 

“I came the long way by the wood, and rode 
very fast.” 

Jean captured Loulou, who was directing 
his steps toward the climbing roses. He un- 
saddled him, fastened him in the little shed, 
rubbed him down with a great handful of 
straw, after which he entered the house, re- 
lieved himself of his sword and kepi, replaced 
the latter by an old straw hat, value sixpence, 
and then went to look for his godfather in the 
garden. 

The poor Abbe was indeed sad; he had 
scarcely closed an eye all night — he who gen- 
erally slept so easily, so quietly, the sound 
sleep of a child. His soul was wrung. Lon- 
gueval in the hands of a foreigner, of a heretic, 
of an adventuress! 

Jean repeated what Paul had said the eve- 
ning before. 


40 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“You will have money, plenty of money, for 
your poor. ’ ’ 

“Money! money! Yes, my poor will not 
lose, perhaps they will even gain by it; but I 
must go and ask for this money, and in the 
salon, instead of my old and dear friend, I 
shall find this red-haired American. It seems 
that she has red hair! I will certainly go for 
the sake of my poor — I will go — and she will 
give me the money, but she will give me noth- 
ing but money; the Marquise gave me some- 
thing else, — her life and her heart. Every 
week we went together to visit the sick and 
the poor; she knew all the sufferings and the_> 
miseries of the country round, and when the 
gout nailed me to my easy-chair she made the 
rounds alone, and as well, or better than I.” 

Pauline interrupted this conversation. She 
carried an immense earthenware salad-dish, on 
which bloomed, violent and startling, enor- 
mous red flowers. // 

“Here I am,” said Pauline, “I am going to 
cut the salad. Jean, would you like lettuce or 
endive?” 

“Endive,” said Jean, gayly. “It is a long 
time since I have had any endive.” 

“Well, you shall have some to-night. Stay, 
take the dish.” 

Pauline began to cut the endive, and Jean 
bent down to receive the leaves in the great 
salad-dish. The Cure looked on. 

At this moment a sound of little bells was 
heard. A carriage was approaching; one heard 
the jangling and creaking of its wheels. The 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


41 


Cure’s little garden was separated from the 
road only by a low hedge, in the middle of 
which was a little trellised gate. 

All three looked out, and saw driving down 
the road a hired carriage of most primitive 
construction, drawn by two great white horses, 
and driven by an old coachman in a blouse. 
Beside this old coachman was seated a tall 
footman in livery, of the most severe and cor- 
rect demeanor. In the carriage were two young 
women, dressed both alike in very elegant, 
but very simple traveling costumes. 

When the carriage was opposite the gate the 
coachman stopped his horses, and addressing 
the Abbe: 

“Monsieur le Cure, ” said he, “these ladies 
wish to speak to you.” 

Then, turning toward the ladies: 

“This is Monsieur le Cure of Longueval. ” 

The Abbe Constantin approached and opened 
the little gate. The travelers alighted. Their 
looks rested, not without astonishment, on the 
young officer, who stood there, a little embar- 
rassed, with his straw hat in one hand, and his 
salad-dish, all overflowing with endive, in the 
other. 

The visitors entered the garden, and the 
elder — she seemed about twenty- five — address- 
ing the Abbe Constantin, said to him with a 
little foreign accent, very original and very 
peculiar— 

“I am obliged to introduce myself — Mrs. 
Scott; I am Mrs. Scott! It was I who bought 
the castle and farms and all the rest here at the 


42 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


sale yesterday. I hope that I do not disturb 
you, and that you can spare me five minutes. " 
Then, pointing to her traveling companion, 
“Miss Bettina Percival, my sister; you guessed 
it, I am sure. We are very much alike, are 
we not? Ah ! Bettina, we have left our bags 
in the carriage, and we shall want them 
directly. “ 

“I will get them. ’’ 

And as Miss Percival prepared to go for the 
two little bags Jean said to her: 

“Pray allow me.” 

“I am really very sorry to give you so much 
trouble. The servant will give them to you; 
they are on the front seat.” 

She has the same accent as her sister, the 
same large eyes, black, laughing, and gay, 
and the same hair, not red, but fair, with 
golden shades, where daintily danced the light 
of the sun. She bowed to Jean with a pretty 
little smile, and he, having returned to Pauline 
the salad-dish full of endive, went to look for 
the two little bags. Meanwhile, much 
agitated, sorely disturbed, the Abbe Constan- 
tin introduced into his vicarage the new Chate- 
laine of Longueval. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


43 


CHAPTER III. 

This vicarage of Longueval was far from 
being a palace. The same apartment on the 
ground floor served for dining and drawing 
room, communicating directly with the kitchen 
by a door, which stood always wide open ; this 
room was furnished in the most scanty man- 
ner: two old arm-chairs, six straw chairs, a 
sideboard, a round table. Pauline had already 
laid the cloth for the dinner of the Abbe and 
Jean. 

Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival went and came, 
examining the domestic arrangements of the 
Cure with a sort of childish wonder. 

“But the garden, the house, everything is 
charming,” said Mrs. Scott. 

They both boldly penetrated into the 
kitchen; the Abbe Constantin followed them, 
scared, bewildered, stupefied at the sudden- 
ness and resolution of this American invasion. 

Old Pauline, with an anxious and gloomy 
air, studied the two foreigners. 

“Here they are, then,” she said to herself, 
“these Protestants, these accursed heretics!” 

“I must compliment you,” said Bettina; 
“your little kitchen is so beautifully kept. 
Look, Suzie, is not the vicarage altogether 
exactly what you wished?” 


44 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“And so is the Cure,” rejoined Mrs. Scott. 
“Yes, Monsieur le Cure, if you will permit 
me to say so, you do not know how happy it 
makes me to find you just what you are. In 
the railway carriage what did I say to you, 
Bettina? And again just now, when we were 
driving here?” 

“My sister said to me, Monsieur le Cure, 
that what she desired above everything was a 
priest, not young or melancholy or severe, but 
one with white hair and a kind and gentle 
manner. And that is exactly what you are, 
Monsieur le Cure, exactly. No, we could not 
have been more fortunate. Excuse me for 
speaking to you in this manner; the Parisians 
know how to make pretty phrases, but I do 
not, and in speaking French I should often be 
quite at a loss if I did not say everything in a 
simple and childish way, as it comes into my 
head. In a word, I am satisfied, quite satis- 
fied, and I hope that you, too, Monsieur le 
Cure, will be satisfied with your new parish- 
ioners. ” 

“My parishioners!” exclaimed the Cure, all 
at once recovering speech, movement, life, 
everything which for some moments had com- 
pletely abandoned him. “My parishioners! 
Pardon me, Madame, Mademoiselle, I am so 
agitated. You will be — you are Catholics?” 

“Certainly we are Catholics.” 

“Catholics! Catholics!” repeated the Cure. 

“Catholics! Catholics!” echoed old Pauline. 

Mrs. Scott looked from the Cure to Pauline, 
from Pauline to the Cure, much surprised that 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


45 


a single word should produce such an effect, 
and, to complete the tableau, Jean appeared 
carrying the two little traveling bags. 

The Cure and Pauline saluted him with the 
same word — 

“Catholics! Catholics !” 

“Ah! I begin to understand,” said Mrs. 
Scott, laughing. “It is our name, our country; 
you thought that we were Protestants. Not 
at all. Our mother was a Canadian, French and 
Catholic by descent; that is why my sister and 
I both speak French, with an accent, it is true, 
and with certain American idioms, but yet in 
such a manner as to be able to express nearly 
all we want to say. My husband is a Protes- 
tant, but he allows me complete liberty, and 
my two children are Catholics. That is why, 
Monsieur l’Abbe, we wished to come and see 
you the very first day.” 

“That is one reason,” continued Bettina. 
“But there is also another; but for that rea- 
son we shall want our little bags.” 

“Here they are,” said Jean. > 

While the two little bags passed from the 
hands of the officer to those of Mrs. Scott and 
Bettina, the Cure introduced Jean to the two 
American ladies, but his agitation was so great 
that the introduction was not made strictly 
according to rule. The Cure only forgot one 
thing, it is true, but that was a thing tolerably 
essential in an introduction — the family name 
of Jean. “This is Jean,” said he, “my godson, 
lieutenant of artillery, now quartered at Sou- 
vigny. He is one of the family. ” 


46 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Jean made two deep bows, the ladies two lit- 
tle ones, after which they foraged in their 
bags, from which each drew a rouleau of 1,000 
francs, daintily enclosed in green sheaths of 
serpent skin, clasped with gold. 

“I have brought you this for your poor,’* 
said Mrs. Scott. 

“And I have brought you this,” said Bet- 
tina. 

“And besides that, Monsieur le Cure, I am 
going to give you five hundred francs a 
month,” said Mrs. Scott. 

“And I will do like my sister.” 

Delicately they slipped their offerings into 
the right and left hands of the Cure, who, 
looking at each hand alternately said: 

“What are these little things? They are 
very heavy; there must be money in them. 
Yes, but how much, how much?” 

The Abbe Constantin was seventy-two, and 
much money had passed through his hands, 
but this money had come to him in small sums, 
and the idea of such an offering as this had 
never entered his head. Two thousand francs! 

Never had he had two thousand francs in his 
possession — no, not even one thousand. He 
stammered: 

“I am very grateful to you, Madame; you 
are very good, Mademoiselle — ” 

But after all he could not thank them 
enough, and Jean thought it necessary to come 
to his assistance. 

“These ladies have just given you two thou- 
sand francs!” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


47 


And, then, full of warmest gratitude, the 
Cure cried : 

“Two thousand francs! Two thousand 
francs for my poor!” 

Pauline suddenly reappeared. 

“.Here, Pauline,” said the Cure, “put away 
this money, and take care — ” 

Old Pauline filled many positions in this sim- 
ple household — cook, maid-of-all-work, trea- 
surer, dispenser. Her hands received with a 
respectful tremble these two little rouleaux, 
which represented so much misery alleviated, 
so much suffering relieved. 

“A thousand francs a month! But there will 
be no poor left in the country. ” 

“That is just what I wish. I am rich, very 
rich, and so is my sister; she is even richer 
than I am, because a young girl has not so 
many expenses, while I — Ah! well, I spend 
all that I can — all that I can. When one has 
a great deal of money, too much, more than 
one feels to be just, tell me, Monsieur le Cure, 
is there any other way of obtaining pardon 
than to keep one’s hands open, and give, give, 
give, all one can, and as usefully as one can? 
Besides, you can give me something in re- 
turn,” and, turning to Pauline, “will you be so 
kind as to give me a glass of water? No, noth- 
ing else, a glass of cold water ; I am dying of 
thirst. * ’ 

“And I,” said Bettina, laughing, while 
Pauline ran to fetch the water, “lam dying of 
something else — of hunger, to tell the truth. 
Monsieur le Cure — I know that I am going to 


48 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


be dreadfully intrusive; I see your cloth is laid 
— could you not invite us to dinner?” 

“Bettina!” said Mrs. Scott. 

“Let me alone, Suzie, let me alone. Won’t 
you, Monsieur le Cure? I am sure you will.” 

But he could find no reply. The old Cure 
hardly knew where he was. They had taken 
his vicarage by storm; they were Catholics; 
they had promised him a thousand francs a 
month, and now they wanted to dine with him. 
Ah! that was the last stroke. Terror seized 
him at the thought of having to do the honors 
of his leg of mutton and custard to these two 
absurdly rich Americans. He murmured: 

“Dine! — you would like to dine here?” 

Jean thought he must interpose again. “It 
would be a great pleasure to my godfather,” 
said he, “if you would kindly stay. But I 
know what disturbs him. We were going to 
dine together, just the two of us, and you must 
not expect a feast. You will be very indul- 
gent?” 

“Yes, yes, very indulgent,” replied Bettina; 
then, addressing her sister, “Come, Suzie, you 
must not be cross, because I have been a little 
— you know it is my way to be a little — Let 
us stay, will you? It will do us good to pass a 
quiet hour here, after such a day as we have 
had! On the railway, in the carriage, in the 
heat, in the dust; we had such a horrid lunch- 
eon, in such a horrid hotel. We were to have 
returned to the same hotel at seven o’clock to 
dine, and then take the train back to Paris, but 
dinner here will be really much nicer. You 



“Old Pauline studied the two foreigners.”— Page 43. 

The Abbe Constantin. 



















- 









. 






THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


49 


won’t say no? Ah! how good you are, 
Suzie !” 

She embraced her sister fondly; then turn- 
ing toward the Cure — 

“If you only knew, Monsieur le Cure, how 
good she is!” 

“Bettina! Bettina!” 

“Come,” said Jean, “quick, Pauline, two 
more plates. I will help you.” 

“And so will I,” said Bettina; “I will help, 
too. Oh! do let me; it will be so amusing. 
Monsieur le Cure, you will let me do a little as 
if I were at home?” 

In a moment she had taken off her mantle, 
and Jean could admire, in all its exquisite per- 
fection, a figure marvelous for suppleness and 
grace. Miss Percival then removed her hat, 
but with a little too much haste, for this was 
the signal for a charming catastrophe. A 
whole avalanche descended in torrents, in long 
cascades, over Bettina’s shoulders. She was 
standing before a window flooded by the rays 
of the sun, and this golden light, falling full 
on this golden hair, formed a delicious frame 
for the sparkling beauty of the young girl. 
Confused and blushing, Bettina was obliged to 
call her sister to her aid, and Mrs. Scott had 
much trouble in introducing order into this 
disorder. 

When this disaster was at length repaired, 
nothing could prevent Bettina from rushing 
on plates, knives, and forks. 

“Oh! indeed,” said she to Jean, “I know 
very well how to lay the cloth. Ask my sister. 

4 Abbe Constantin 


50 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Tell him, Suzie, when I was a little girl in 
New York, I used to lay the cloth very well, 
didn’t I?” 

“Very well, indeed,” said Mrs. Scott. 

And, then, while begging the Cure to excuse 
Bettina’s want of thought, she, too, took off 
her hat and mantle, so that Jean had again 
the very agreeable spectacle of a charming 
figure and beautiful hair; but, to Jean’s great 
regret, the catastrophe had not a second rep- 
resentation. 

In a few minutes, Mrs. Scott, Miss Percival, 
the Cure, and Jean were seated round the little 
vicarage table; then, thanks partly to the im- 
promptu and original nature of the entertain- 
ment, partly to Bettina’s good-humor and per- 
haps slightly audacious gayety, the conversa- 
tion took a turn of the frankest and most cordial 
familiarity. 

“Now, Monsieur le Cure,” said Bettina, 
“you shall see if I did not speak the truth 
when I said I was dying of hunger. I never 
was so glad to sit down to dinner. This is 
such a delightful finish to our day. Both my 
sister and I are perfectly happy now we have 
this castle and these farms and the forest.” 

“And then,” said Mrs. Scott, “to have all 
that in such an extraordinary and unexpected 
manner! We were so taken by surprise.” 

“You may indeed say so, Suzie. You must 
know, Monsieur l’Abbe, that yesterday was 
my sister’s birthday. But first, pardon me, 
Monsieur — Jean, is it not?” 

“Yes, Miss Percival, Monsieur Jean.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


61 


“Well, Monsieur Jean, a little more of that 
excellent soup, if you please. ” 

The Abbe was beginning to recover a little, 
but he was still too agitated to perform the 
duties of a host. It was Jean who had under- 
taken the management of his godfather’s little 
dinner. He filled the plate of the charming 
American girl, who fixed upon him the glance 
of two large eyes, in which sparkled frankness, 
daring, and gayety. Jean’s eyes, meanwhile, 
repaid Miss Percival in the same coin. It was 
scarcely three-quarters of an hour since the 
young American lady and the young officer had 
made acquaintance in the Cure’s garden, yet 
both felt already perfectly at ease with each 
other, full of confidence, almost like old 
friends. 

“I told you, Monsieur TAbbe,” continued 
Bettina, “that yesterday was my sister’s birth- 
day. A week ago my brother-in-law was 
obliged to return to America, but at starting 
he said to my sister, ‘I shall not be with you 
on your birthday, but you will hear from me.' 
So yesterday presents and bouqnets arrived 
from all quarters, but from my brother-in-law, 
up to five o’clock, nothing — nothing. We 
were just starting for a ride in the Bois, and 
apropos of riding” — she stopped, and looking 
curiously at Jean’s great dusty boots — “Mon- 
sieur Jean, you have spurs on.’’ 

“Yes, Miss Percival.” 

“Then you are in the cavalry?” 

“I am in the artillery, and that, you know, 
is cavalry. ” 


52 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“And your regiment is quartered — ” 

“Quite near here. ” 

“Then you will be able to ride with us?” 

“With the greatest pleasure.” 

“That is settled. Let me see; where was 
I?” 

“You do not know at all where you are, 
Bettina, and you are telling these gentlemen 
things which cannot interest them. ” 

“Oh! I beg your pardon,” said the Cure. 
“The sale of this estate is the only subject of 
conversation in the neighborhood just now, and 
Miss Percival’s account interests me very 
much. ” 

“You see, Suzie, my story interests Mon- 
sieur le Cure very much; then I shall con- 
tinue. We went for our ride, we returned at 
seven o’clock — nothing. We dined, and just 
when we were leaving the table a telegram 
•from America arrived. It contained only a 
few lines: 

“ ‘I have ordered the purchase to-day, for 
you and in your name, of the castle and lands 
of Longueval, near Souvigny, on the northern 
railway line.’ 

“Then we both burst into wild fit of laugh- 
ter at the thought.” 

“No, no, Bettina; you calumniate us both. 
Our first thought was one of very sincere grat- 
itude, for both my sister and 1 are very fond 
of the country. My husband knows that we 
have longed to have an estate in France. For 
six months he had been looking out, and found 
nothing. At last he discovered this one, and 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


53 


without telling us, ordered it to be bought for 
my birthday. It was a delicate attention.” 

‘‘Yes, Suzie, you are right, but after the little 
fit of gratitude we had a great one of gay- 
ety. ” 

‘‘Yes, I confess it. When we realized that 
we had suddenly become possessed of a castle, 
without knowing in the least where it was, 
what it was like, or how much it had cost, it 
seemed so like a fairy tale. Well, for five 
good minutes we laughed with all our hearts, 
then we seized the map of France, and suc- 
ceeded in discovering Souvigny. When we 
had finished with the map, it was the turn of 
the railway guide, and this morning, by the 
ten o’clock express, we arrived at Souvigny. 

We have passed the whole day in visiting 
the castle, the woods, the stables. We are de- 
lighted with what we have seen. Only, Mon- 
sieur le Cure, there is one thing about which 
I feel curious. I know that the place was sold 
yesterday by auction : I saw the placards all 
along; but I have not dared to ask either 
agent or farmer who accompanied me in my 
walk — for my ignorance would have seemed too 
absurd — I have not dared to ask how much 
it cost. In the telegram my husband does not 
mention the sum. Since I am so delighted 
with the place, the price is only a detail, but 
still I should like to know it. Tell me, Mon- 
sieur le Cure, do you know what it cost?” 

‘‘An enormous price,” replied the Cure, 
“for many hopes and many ambitions were ex- 
cited about Longueval. ” 


54 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“An enormous price! You frighten me. 
How much exactly?” 

“Three millions!” 

“Is that all? Is that all?” cried Mrs. Scott. 
“The castle, the farms, the forest, all for three- 
millions. ” 

“But that is nothing,” said Bettina. “That 
delicious little stream which wanders through, 
the park is alone worth three millions.” 

“And you said just now, Monsieur le Cure, 
that there were several persons who were our 
rivals at the sale?” , 

“Yes, Mrs. Scott.” 

“And after the sale, was my name men- 
tioned among these persons?” 

“Certainly it was.” 

“And when my name was mentioned, was 
there no one there who spoke of me? Yes, 
yes, your silence is a sufficient answer; they 
did speak of me. Well, Monsieur le Cure, I 
am now serious, very serious. I beg you as a. 
favor to tell me what was said.” 

“But,” replied the poor Cure, who felt him- 
self upon burning coals, “they spoke of your 
large fortune.” 

“Yes, of course, they would be obliged to 
speak of that, and no doubt they said that I 
was very rich, but had not been rich long — 
that I was a parvenue. Very well, but that is 
not all; they must have said something else.” 

“No, indeed: I have heard nothing else.” 

“Oh! Monsieur le Cure, that is what you 
may call a white lie, and I am making you 
very unhappy, because naturally you are the 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


55 


soul of truth, but if I torment you thus it is 
because I have the greatest interest in know- 
ing what was said. ” 

“You are right,” interrupted Jean, “you are 
right. They said you were one of the most 
-elegant, the most brilliant, and the — ” 

“And one of the prettiest women in Paris. 
With a little indulgence they might say that; 
but that is not all yet — there is something 
else. ’ ’ 

“Oh! I assure you — ” 

“Yes, there is something else, and I should 
like to hear it this very moment, and I should 
like the information to be very frank and very 
exact. It seems to me that I am in a lucky 
vein to-day, and I feel as if you were both a 
little inclined to be my friends, and that you 
will be so entirely some day. Well, tell me if 
I am right in supposing that should false and 
absurd stories be told about me, you will help 
me to contradict them?” 

“Yes!” replied Jean, with great eagerness, 
“you are right in believing that.” 

“Well, then, it is to you that I address my- 
self. You are a soldier, and courage is part oi 
your profession. Promise me to be brave. 
Will you promise me?” 

“What do you understand by being brave?” 

“Promise, promise — without explanations, 
without conditions.” 

”Well, I promise.” 

“You will then reply frankly, ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ 
to my questions?” 

“I will.” 


56 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Did they say that I had begged in the 
streets of New York?” 

“Yes, they said so. ” 

“Did they say I had been a rider in a travel- 
ing circus?” 

“Yes, they said that too.” 

“Very well; that is plain speaking. Now 
remark first that in all this there is nothing 
that one might not acknowledge if it were true ; 
but it is not true, and have I not the right of 
denying it? My history — I will tell it you in a 
few words. I am going to pass a part of my 
life in this place, and I desire that all should 
know who I am and whence I come. To begin 
then. Poor! ‘Yes, I have been, and very 
poor. Eight years ago my father died, and 
was soon followed by my mother. I was then 
eighteen, and Bettina nine. We were alone in 
the world, encumbered with heavy debts and a 
great lawsuit. My father’s last words had 
been, ‘Suzie, never, never compromise. Mil- 
lions, my children, you will have millions.’ 
He kissed us both; soon delirium seized him, 
and he died repeating, ‘Millions! millions!’ 
The next morning a lawyer appeared, who 
offered to pay all our debts, and to give us be- 
sides ten thousand dollars, if we would give up 
all our claims. I refused. It was then that 
for several months we were very poor.” 

“And it was then,” said Bettina, “that I 
used to lay the cloth.” 

“I spent my life among the solicitors of New 
York, but no one would take up my case; 
everywhere I received the same reply, ‘Your 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


57 


case is very doubtful ; you have rich and for- 
midable adversaries; you need money, large 
sums of money, to bring such a case to a con- 
clusion, and you have nothing. They offer to 
pay your debts, and to give you ten thousand 
dollars besides. Accept it, and sell your case. ’ 
But my father’s last words rang in my ears, 
and I would not. Poverty, however, might 
soon have forced me to, when one day I made 
another appeal to one of my father’s old 
friends, a banker in New York, Mr. William 
Scott. He was not alone ; a young man was 
sitting in his office. 

“ ‘You may speak freely,’ said Mr. Scott; ‘it 
is my son Richard. ’ 

“I looked at the young man, he looked at 
me, and we recognized each other. 

“ ‘Suzie!’ 

“ ‘Richard!’ 

“Formerly, as children, we had often played 
together and were great friends. Seven or 
eight years before this meeting he had been 
sent to Europe to finish his education. We 
shook hands; his father made me sit down, and 
asked what my errand was. He listened to 
my tale, and replied: 

“ ‘You would require twenty or thirty thou- 
sand dollars. No one would lend you such a 
sum upon the uncertain chances of a very com- 
plicated lawsuit. If you are in difficulties; if 
you need assistance — ’ 

“ ‘It is not that, father,’ said Richard, 
eagerly. ‘That is not what Miss Percival 
asks. ’ 


58 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ ‘I know that very well, but what she asks 
is impossible. ’ 

“He rose to iet me out. Then the sense 
of my helplessness overpowered me for the 
first time since my father’s death. I burst 
into a violent flood of tears. An hour later 
Richard Scott was at my house. 

“ 4 Suzie,’ he said, ‘promise to accept what 
I am going to offer. ’ 

“I promised him. 

“‘Well,’ said he, ‘on the single condition 
that my father shall know nothing about it, I 
place at your disposal the necessary sum. ’ 

“ ‘But then you ought to know what the law- 
suit is — what it is worth. ’ 

“ ‘I do not know a single word about it, and 
I do not wish to. Besides, you have promised 
to accept it; you cannot withdraw now.’ 

“He offered it to me with such frankness 
that I accepted. Three months later the case 
was ours. All this vast property became be- 
yond dispute the property of Bettina and me. 
The other side offered to buy it of us for five 
millions. I consulted Richard. 

“ ‘Refuse it and wait,’ said he; ‘if they offer 
you such a sum it is because the property is 
worth double. ’ 

“ ‘However, I must return you your money; 
I owe you a great deal. ’ 

“ ‘Oh! as for that there is no hurry; I am 
very easy about it; my money is quite safe 
now. ’ 

“ ‘But I should like to pay you art once. 
I have a horror of debt! Perhaps there is an- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


59 


other way without selling the property. Rich- 
ard, will you be my husband?’ 

“Yes, Monsieur le Cure, — yes,” said Mrs. 
Scott, laughing, “it is thus that I threw myself 
at my husband’s head. I asked his hand. 
But really I was obliged to act thus. Never, 
never, would he have spoken ; I had become 
too rich, and as he loved me, and not my 
money, he was becoming terribly afraid of me. 
That is the history of my marriage. As to 
the history of my fortune, it can be told in a 
few words. There were indeed millions in 
those wide lands of Colorado; they discovered 
there abundant mines of silver, and from those 
mines we draw every year an income which is 
beyond reason, but we have agreed — my hus- 
band, my sister, and myself — to give a very 
large share of this income to the poor. You 
see, Monsieur le Cure, it is because we have 
known very hard times that you will always 
find us ready to help those who are, as we 
have been ourselves, involved in the difficul- 
ties and sorrows of life. And now, Monsieur 
Jean, will you forgive me this long discourse, 
and offer me a little of that cream, which looks 
so very good?’ 

This cream was Pauline’s custard, and while 
Jean was serving Mrs. Scott — 

“I have not yet finished,’’ she continued. 
“You must know what gave rise to these ex- 
travagant stories. A year ago, when we set- 
tled in Paris, we considered it our duty on our 
arrival to give a certain sum to the poor. Who 
was it spoke of that? None of us, certainly, 


so 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


but the thing was told in a newspaper, with 
the amount. Immediately two young report- 
ers hastened to subject Mr. Scott to a little ex- 
amination on his past history; they wished to 
give a sketch of his career in the — what do you 
call them? — society papers. Mr. Scott is some- 
times a little hasty; he was so on this occa- 
sion, and dismissed these gentlemen rather 
brusquely without telling them anything. 
So, as they did not know our real history, they 
invented one, and certainly displayed a very 
lively imagination. One of them related how 
I had begged in the snow of New York; the 
next day appeared a still more sensational 
article, which made me a rider in a circus in 
Philadelphia. You have some verj 7, funny 
papers in France ; so have we in America, for 
the matter of that.” 

During the last five minutes Pauline had 
been making desperate signs to the Cure, who 
persisted in not understanding them, till at 
last the poor woman, calling up all her cour- 
age, said: 

“Monsieur le Cure, it is a quarter-past 
seven.” 

“A quarter-past seven! Ladies, I must beg 
you to excuse me. This evening I have the 
special service for the month of Mary.” 

“The month of Mary? And will the service 
begin directly?” 

“Yes, directly. ” 

“And when does our train start for Paris?” 

“At half-past nine,” replied Jean. 

“Suzie, can we not go to church first?” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


61 


“Yes, we will go,” replied Mrs. Scott; “but 
before we separate, Monsieur le Cure, I have 
one favor to ask you. I should like very 
much, the first time I dine at Longueval, that 
you would dine with me, and you too, Mon- 
sieur Jean, just us four alone as to-day. Oh! 
do not refuse my invitation ; it is given with 
all my heart.” 

“And accepted as heartily,” replied Jean. 

“I will write and tell you the day, and it 
shall be as soon as possible. You call that 
having a house-warming, don’t you? Well, 
we will have the house-warming all to our- 
selves. ’ ’ 

Meanwhile Pauline had drawn Miss Percival 
into a corner of the room, and was talking to 
her with great animation. The conversation 
ended with these words: 

“You will be there?” said Bettina, “and 
you will tell me the exact moment?” 

“I will tell you, but take care. Here is 
Monsieur le Cure ; he must not suspect any- 
thing. ” 

The two sisters, the Cure, and Jean left the 
house. To go to the church they were obliged 
to cross the churchyard. The evening was 
delicious. Slowly, silently, under the rays of 
the setting sun the four walked down a long 
avenue. 

On their way was the monument to Dr. Rey- 
naud, very simple, but which yet, by its pro- 
portions, showed distinctly among the other 
tombs. 


62 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Mrs. Scott and Bettina stopped, struck with 
this inscription carved on the stone : 

“Here lies Dr. Marcel Reynaud, Surgeon- 
Major of the Souvigny Reserves; killed Janu- 
ary 8, 1871, at the battle of Villersexel. Pray 
for him.” 

When they had read it, the Cure pointing to 
Jean, said these simple words: 

“It was his father!” 

The two sisters drew near the tomb, and 
with bent heads remained there for some min- 
utes, pensive, touched, contemplative. Then 
both turned, and at the same moment, by the 
same impulse, offered their hands to the young 
officer; then continued their walk to the 
church. Their first prayer at Longue val had 
been for Jean’s father. 

The Cure went to put on his surplice and 
stole. Jean conducted Mrs. Scott to the seat 
which belonged to the masters of Longueval. 

Pauline had gone on before. She was wait- 
ing for Miss Percival in the shadow behind one 
of the pillars. By a steep and narrow staircase 
she led Bettina to the gallery, and placed her 
before the harmonium. 

Preceded by two little chorister boys, the old 
Cure left the vestry, and at the moment when 
he knelt on the steps of the altar — 

“Now! mademoiselle,” said Pauline, whose 
heart beat with impatience. “Poor, dear man, 
how pleased he will be!” 

When he heard the sound of the music rise, 
soft as a murmur, and spread through the little 
church, the Abbe Constantin was filled with 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


63 


such emotion, such joy, that the tears came to 
his eyes. He could not remember having wept 
since the day when Jean had said that he wished 
to share all that he possessed with the mother 
and sister of those who had fallen by his 
father’s side under the Prussian bullets. 

To bring tears to the eye of the old priest a 
young American girl had been brought across 
the seas to play a revery of Chopin in the little 
church of Longueval. 


64 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


CHAPTER IV. 

The next day, at half-past five in the morn- 
ing, the bugle-call rang through the barrack- 
yard at Souvigny. Jean mounted his horse, 
and took his place with his division. By the 
end of May all the recruits in the army are 
sufficiently instructed to be capable of sharing 
in the general evolutions. Almost every day 
manoeuvres of the mounted artillery are 
executed on the parade ground. Jean loved 
his profession; he was in the habit of inspect- 
ing carefully the grooming and harness of the 
horses, the equipment and carriage of his men. 
This morning, however, he bestowed but scant 
attention on all the little details of his duty. 

One problem agitated, tormented him, and 
left him always undecided, and this problem 
was one of those the solution of which is not 
given at the Ecole Polytechnique. Jean could 
find no convincing reply to this question. 
“Which of the two sisters is the prettier?” 

At the butts, during the first part of the man- 
oeuvre, each battery worked on its own 
account, under the orders of the captain; but 
he often relinquished the place to one of his 
lieutenants, in order to accustom them to the 
management of the six field-pieces. It hap- 
pened on this day that the command was 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


65 


entrusted to the hands of Jean. To the great 
surprise of the captain, in whose estimation his 
lieutenant held the first rank as a well-trained, 
smart, and capable officer, everything went 
wrong. The captain was obliged to interfere; 
he addressed a little reprimand to Jean, which 
terminated in these words: 

“I cannot understand it at all. What is the 
matter with you this morning? It is the first 
time such a thing has happened with you.” 

It was also the first time that Jean had seen 
anything at the butts at Souvigny but cannon, 
ammunition-wagons, horses, or gunners. 

In the clouds of dust raised by the wheels of 
the wagons and the hoofs of the horses Jean 
beheld, not the second mounted battery of the 
ninth regiment of artillery, but the distinct 
images of two American women with black 
eyes and golden hair; and, at the moment when 
he listened respectfully to the well-merited 
lecture from his captain, he was in the act of 
saying to himself : 

“The prettier is Mrs. Scott!” 

Every morning the exercise is divided into 
two parts by a little interval of ten minutes. 
The officers gathered together and talked; 
Jean remained apart, alone with his recollec- 
tions of the previous evening. His thoughts 
obstinately gathered round the vicarage of 
Longueval. 

‘‘Yes! the more charming of the two sisters 
was Mrs. Scott: Miss Percival was only a 
child. ” 

He again saw Mrs. Scott at the Cure's little 

5 Abbe Constantin 


66 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


table. He heard her story told with such frank- 
ness, such freedom. The harmony of that very 
peculiar, very fascinating voice, still enchanted 
his ear. He was again in the church; she was 
there before him, bending over her prie-Dieu, 
her pretty head resting in her two little hands; 
then the music arose, and far off, in the dusk, 
Jean perceived Bettina’s fine and delicate 
profile. 

“A child — was she only a child?” 

The trumpets sounded, the practice recom- 
menced; this time, fortunately, no command, 
no responsibility. The four batteries executed 
their evolutions together; this immense mass 
of men, horses, and carriages, deployed in 
every direction, now drawn out in a long line, 
again collected into a compact group. All 
stopped at the same instant along the whole 
extent of the ground; the gunners sprang from 
their horses, ran to their pieces, detached each 
from its team, which went off at a trot, and pre- 
pared to fire with amazing rapidity. Then the 
horses returned, the men re-attached their 
pieces, sprang quickly to saddle, and the regi- 
ment started at full gallop across the field. 

Very gently in the thoughts of Jean, Bettina 
regained her advantage over Mrs. Scott. She 
appeared to him smiling and blushing amid the 
sun lit clouds of her floating hair. Monsieur 
Jean, she had called him — Monsieur Jean; and 
never had his name sounded so sweet. And 
that last pressure of the hand on taking leave, 
before entering the carriage. Had not Miss 
Percival given him a more cordial clasp than 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


67 


Mrs. Scoct had done? Yes, positively a little 
more. 

“I was mistaken,” thought Jean; “the pret- 
tier is Miss Percival. ” 

The day’s work was finished; the pieces were 
ranged regularly in line one behind the other; 
they defiled rapidly, with a horrible clatter and 
in a cloud of dust. When Jean, sword in hand, 
passed before his colonel, the images cf the two 
sisters were so confused and intermingled in 
his recollection that they melted the one in the 
other, and became in some measure the image 
of one and the same person. Any parallel 
became impossible between them, thanks to 
this singular confusion of the two points of 
comparison. Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival 
remained thus inseparable in the thoughts of 
Jean until the day when it was granted to him 
to see them again. The impression of that 
meeting was not effaced; it was always there, 
persistent, and very sweet, till Jean began to 
feel disturbed. 

“Is it possible” — so ran his meditations — “is 
it possible that I have been guilty of the folly 
of falling in love madly at first sight? No; 
one might fail in love with a woman, but not 
with two women at once. ” 

That thought reassured him. He was very 
young, this great fellow of four-and- twenty ; 
never had love entered fully into his heart. 
Love! He knew very little about it, except 
from books, and he had read but few of them. 
But he was no angel; he could find plenty of 
attractions in the “griscttes” of Souvigny, and 


68 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 

when they would allow him to tell them that 
they were charming- he was quite ready to do 
so, but it had never entered his head to regard 
as love those passing fancies, which only caused 
the slightest and most superficial disturbance 
in his heart. 

Paul de Lavardens had marvelous powers of 
enthusiasm and idealization. His heart shel- 
tered always two or three “grandes passions,” 
which lived there in perfect harmony. Paul 
had been so clever as to discover, in this little 
town of fifteen thousand souls, numbers of 
pretty girls, all made to be adored. He always 
believed himself the discoverer of America, 
when, in fact he had done nothing but follow 
in the track of other navigators. 

The world — Jean had scarcely encountered 
it. He had allowed himself to be dragged by 
Paul, a dozen times, perhaps, to soirees or balls 
at the great houses of the neighborhood. He 
had invariably returned thoroughly bored, and 
had concluded that these pleasures were not 
made for him. His tastes were simple, serious. 
He loved solitude, work, long walks, open 
spaces, horses, and books. He was a son of 
nature — somewhat of a peasant. He loved his 
village, and all the old friends of his childhood. 
A quadrille in a drawing-room caused him 
unspeakable terror; but every year, at the 
festival of the patron saint of Longueval, he 
danced gayly with the young girls and farmers’ 
daughters of the neighborhood. 

If he had seen Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival 
at home in Paris, in all the splendor of their 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


69 


luxury, in all the perfection of their costly sur- 
roundings, he would have looked at them from 
afar, with curiosity, as exquisite works of art. 
Then he would have returned home, and would 
have slept, as usual, the most peaceful slumber 
in the world. 

Yes, but it was not thus that the thing had 
come to pass, and hence his excitement, hence 
his disturbance. These two women had shown 
themselves before him in the midst of a circle 
with which he was familiar, and which had 
been, if only for this reason, singularly favor- 
able to them. Simple, good, frank, cordial, 
such they had shown themselves the very first 
day, and delightfully pretty into the bargain 
— a fact which is never insignificant. Jean 
fell at once under the charm; he was there 
still! 

At the moment when he dismounted in the 
barrack-yard, at nine o’clock, the old priest 
began his campaign joyously. Since the previ- 
ous evening the Abbe’s head had been on fire; 
Jean had not slept much, but he had not slept 
at all. He had risen very early, and with closed 
doors, alone with Pauline, he had counted and 
recounted his money, spreading on the table his 
hundred “louis d’or, ” gloating over them like 
a miser, and like a miser finding exquisite 
pleasure in handling his hoard. All that was 
his! for him! — that is to say, for the poor. 

“Do not be too lavish, Monsieur le Cure,” 
said Pauline; “be economical. I think that if 
you distribute to-day a hundred francs — ” 

“That is not enough, Pauline. I shall only 


70 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


have one such day in my life, but one I will 
have How much do you think I shall give 
to-day?” 

“How much, Monsieur le Cure?” 

“A thousand francs!” 

“A thousand francs!!” 

“Yes. We are millionaires; now we possess 
all the treasures of America, and you talk about 
economy? Not to-day, at all events; indeed, I 
have no right to think of it.” 

After saying mass; at nine o’clock he set out 
and showered gold along his way. All had a 
share — the poor who acknowledged their pov- 
verty and those who concealed it. Each alms 
was accompanied by the same little discourse: 

“This comes from the new owners of Lon- 
gueval — two American ladies. Mrs. Scott and 
Miss Percival. Remember their names and 
pray for them. ’ ’ 

Then he made off without waiting for thanks, 
across the fields, through the woods, from ham- 
let to hamlet, from cottage to cottage — on, on, 
on. A sort of intoxication mounted to his 
brain. Everywhere were cries of joy and 
astonishment. All these “louis d’or” fell, as 
if by a miracle, into the poor hands accustomed 
to receive little pieces of silver. The Cure was 
guilty of follies, actual follies. tie was out 
bonds: he did not recognize himself; he had 
lost all control over himself; he even gave to 
those who did not ask anything. 

He met Claud Rigel, the old sergeant, who 
had left one of his arms at Sevastopol. He 
was growing gray — nay, white, for time passes, 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


71 


and the soldiers of the Crimea will soon be old 
men. 

“Here,” said the Cure, “I have twenty 
francs for you. ” 

“Twenty francs! But I never asked for any- 
thing; I don’t want anything, I have my pen- 
sion. ’ ’ 

His pension! Seven hundred francs! 

“Very good! It will be something to buy 
you cigars. Listen: it comes from America.” 

And then followed the Abbe’s little speech 
about the new owners of Longueval. 

He went to a poor woman, whose son had 
just gone to Tunis. 

“Well, how is your son getting on?” 

“Not so bad, Monsieur le Cure; I had a let- 
ter from him yesterday. He does not com- 
plain, he is very well, only he says there are 
no Kroomirs. Poor boy ! I have been saving 
for a month, and I think I shall soon be able to 
send him ten francs!” 

“You shall send him thirty. Take this.” 

“Twenty francs! Monsieur le Cure, you 
give me twenty francs?” 

“Yes, that is for you.” 

“For my boy?” 

“For your boy. But listen; you must know 
from whom it comes, and you must take care 
to tell your son when you write to him. ” 

Again the little speech about Mrs. Scott and 
Miss Percival, and again the adjuration to 
remember them in their prayers. At six 
o’clock he returned home exhausted with 
fatigue, but with his soul filled with joy. 


72 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“I have given away all!” he cried, as soon 
as he saw Pauline; “all! all! all!” 

He dined, and then went in the evening to 
perform the usual service for the month of 
Mary. But this time the harmonium was 
silent; Miss Percival was no longer there. 

The little organist of the evening before was 
at that moment much perplexed. On two 
couches in her dressing-room were spread two 
dresses, — a white and a blue. Bettina was 
meditating which of these two dresses she 
would wear to go to the Opera that evening. 
After long hesitation she fixed on the white. 
At half-past nine the two sisters ascended the 
grand staircase at the Opera House. Just as 
they entered their box the curtain rose on the 
second scene of the second act of Aida, that 
containing the ballet and march. 

Two young men, Roger de Puymartin and 
Louis de Martillet, were seated in the front of 
a stage-box. The young ladies of the corps de 
ballet had not yet appeared, and these gentle- 
men, having no occupation, were amusing 
themselves with looking about the house. 
The appearance of Miss Percival made a strong 
impression upon both. 

“Ah! ah!” said Puymartin, “there she is, 
the little golden nugget!” 

“She is perfectly dazzling this evening, this 
little golden nugget, ” continued Martillet. 
“Look at her, at the line of her neck, the fall 
of her shoulders, — still a young girl, and 
already a woman. ’ ’ 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


73 


“Yes, she is charming, and tolerably well 
off into the bargain.” 

“Fifteen millions of her own, and the silver 
mine is still productive.” 

“Berulle told me twenty- five millions, and 
he is very well up in American affairs.” 

“Twenty-five millions! A pretty haul for 
Romanelli !” 

“What! Romanelli?” 

“Report says that that will be a match; that 
it is already settled.” 

“A match may be arranged, but with Mon- 
tessan, not with Romanelli. Ah! at last! Here 
is the ballet.” 

They ceased to talk. The ballet in Aida 
lasts only five minutes, and for those five min- 
utes they had come. Consequently they must 
be enjoyed respectfully, religiously, for it is a 
peculiarity among a number of the habitues of 
the opera, that they chatter like magpies when 
they ought to be silent, to listen, and that they 
observe the most absolute silence when they 
might be allowed to speak, while looking 
on. 

The trumpets of “Aida” had given their last 
heroic fanfare in honor of Radames before the 
great sphinxes under the green foliage of the 
palm-trees, the dancers advanced, the light 
trembling on their spangled robes, and took 
possession of the stage. 

With much attention and pleasure Mrs. 
Scott followed the evolutions of the ballet, but 
Bettina had suddenly become thoughtful, on 
perceiving in a box, on the other side of the 


74 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


house, a tall, dark young man. Miss Percival 
talked to herself, and said: 

“What shall I do? What shall I decide on? 
Must I marry him, that handsome, tall fellow 
over there, who is watching me, . . . for he is 
looking at me? He will come into our box as 
soon as this act is over, and then I have only 
to say, ‘I have decided; here is my hand; I 
will be your wife,’ and then all would be 
settled! I should be Princess! Princess 
Romanelli! Princess Bettina! Bettina Ro- 
manelli! The names go well together; they 
sound very pretty. Would it amuse me to be 
a Princess? Yes — and no! Amongst all the 
young men in Paris who during the last year 
have run after my money, this Prince Roma- 
nelli is the one who pleases me best. One of 
these days I must make up my mind to marry. 
I think he loves me. Yes, but the question is, 
do I love him? No, I don't think I do, and I 
should so much like to love — so much, so 
much ! ’ ’ 

At the precise moment when these reflec- 
tions were passing through Bettina’s pretty 
head, Jean, alone in his study, seated before 
his desk with a great book under the shade of 
his lamp, looking through the history of 
Turenne’s campaigns, was taking notes. He 
had been directed to give a course of instruc- 
tion to the non-commissioned officers of the 
regiment, and was prudently preparing his 
lesson for the next day. 

But in the midst of his notes — Nordlingen, 
1645; les Dunes, 1658; Mulhausen and Turck- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


75 


heim, 1674 — 1675 — he suddenly perceived (Jean 
did not draw very badly) a sketch, a woman’s 
portrait, which all at once appeared under his 
pen. What was she doing there, in the middle 
of Turenne’s victories, that pretty little 
woman? And then who was she — Mrs. Scott 
or Miss Percival? How could he tell? They 
resembled each other so much; and labor- 
iously, painfully, Jean returned to the history 
of the campaigns of Turenne. 

And at the same moment the Abbe Con- 
stantin, on his knees before his little wooden 
bedstead, was calling down, with all the 
strength of his soul, the blessings of Heaven 
on the two women through whose bounty he 
had passed such a sweet and happy day. He 
prayed God to bless Mrs. Scott in her children, 
and to give to Miss Percival a husband after 
her own heart. 


76 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


CHAPTER V. 

Formerly Paris belonged to the Parisians, 
and that at no very remote period, — thirty or 
forty years ago. At that epoch the French 
were the masters of Paris, as the English are 
the masters of London, the Spaniards of 
Madrid, and the Russians of St. Petersburg. 
Those times are no more. Other countries still 
have their frontiers; there are now none to 
France. Paris has become an immense Babel, 
a universal and international city. Foreigners 
do not come merely to visit Paris; they come 
there to live. At the present day we have in 
Paris a Russian colony, a Spanish colony, a 
Levantine colony, an American colony. The 
foreigners have already conquered from us the 
greater part of the Champs- Elysees and the 
Boulevard Malesherbes; they advance; they 
extend their outworks; we retreat, pressed 
back by the invaders; we are obliged to ex- 
patriate ourselves. We have begun to found 
Parisian colonies in the plains of Passy, in the 
plain of Monceau, in quarters which formerly 
were not Paris at all, and which are not quite 
even now. Amongst the foreign colonies, the 
richest, the most populous, the most brilliant, 
is the American colony. There is a moment 
when an American feels himself rich enough; 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


77 


a Frenchman, never. The American then 
stops, draws breath, and while still husband- 
ing the capital, no longer spares the income. 
He knows how to spend; the Frenchman 
knows only how to save. 

The Frenchman has only one real luxury, — 
his revolutions. Prudently and wisely he re- 
serves himself for them, knowing well that 
they will cost France dear, but that, at the 
same time, they will furnish the opportunity 
for advantageous investments. The French- 
man says to himself : 

“Let us hoard! let us hoard! let us hoard! 
Some of these mornings there will be a revo- 
lution, which will make the five per cents fall 
fifty or sixty francs. I will buy then. Since 
revolutions are inevitable, let us try at least 
to make them profitable.” 

They are always talking about the people 
who are ruined by revolutions, but perhaps 
the number of those enriched by revolutions is 
still greater. 

The Americans experience the attraction of 
Paris very strongly. There is no town in the 
world where it is easier or more agreeable to 
spend a great deal of money. For many rea- 
sons, both of race and origin, this attraction 
exercised over Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival a 
very remarkable power. 

The most French of our colonies is Canada, 
which is no longer ours. The recollection of 
their first home has been preserved faithfully 
and tenderly in the hearts of the emigrants to 
Montreal and Quebec. Suzie Percival had re- 


78 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


ceived from her mother an entirely French: 
education, and she had brought up her sister in 
the same love of our country. The two sisters 
felt themselves Frenchwomen ; still better, 
Parisians. As soon as the avalanche of dol- 
lars had descended upon them, the same desire 
seized them both, — to come and live in Paris. 
They demanded France as if it had been their 
fatherland. Mr. Scott made some opposition. 

“If I go away from here,” he said, “your 
incomes will suffer.” 

“What does that matter?” replied Suzie. 
“We are rich — too rich. Do let us go. We 
shall be so happy, so delighted!” 

Mr. Scott allowed himself to be persuaded, 
and at the beginning of January, 1880, Suzie 
wrote the following letter to her friend, Katie 
Norton, who had lived in Paris for some 
years: 

“Victory! It is decided! Richard has con- 
sented. I shall arrive in April, and become a 
Frenchwoman again. You offered to under 
fake all the preparations for our settlement in 
Paris. I am horribly presuming — I accept! 
When I arrive in Paris, I should like to be able 
f o enjoy Paris, and not be obliged to lose my 
first month in running after upholsterers, 
coach-builders, horse-dealers. I should like,, 
on arriving at the railway station, to find 
awaiting me my carriage, my coachman, my 
horses. That very day I should like you to 
dine with me at my home. Hire or buy a. 
mansion, engage the servants, choose the 
horses, the carriages, the liveries. I depend 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


79 


entirely upon you. As long as the liveries are 
blue, that is the only point. This line is 
added at Bettina’s request. 

“We shall bring only seven persons with us. 
Richard will have his valet, Betti na and I two 
ladies’-maids; then there are the two gov- 
ernesses for the children, and, besides these 
two grooms, Toby and Bobby, who ride to per- 
fection. We should never find in Paris such a 
perfect pair. 

“Everything else, people and things, we 
shall leave in New York. No, not quite every- 
thing; I had forgotten four little ponies, four 
little gems, black as ink. We have not the 
heart to leave them ; we shall drive them in 
a phaeton, it is delightful. Both Bettina and 
I drive four-in-hand very well. Ladies can 
drive four-in-hand in the ‘Bois’ very early in 
the morning, can’t they? Here it is quite pos- 
sible. 

“Above all, my dear Katie, do not con- 
sider money. Be as extravagant as you like, 
that is all I ask. ’ ’ 

The same day that Mrs. Norton received 
this letter witnessed the failure of a certain 
Garneville. He was a great speculator who 
had been on a false scent. Stocks had fallen 
just when he had expected a rise. This Gar- 
neville had, six weeks before, installed himself 
in a brand-new house, which had no other 
fault than a too startling magnificence. 

Mrs. Norton signed an agreement — one hun- 
dred thousand francs a year, with the option 
of buying house and furniture for two millions 


80 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


during the first year of possession. A famous 
upholstererundertook to correct and subdue the 
exaggerated splendor of a loud and gorgeous 
luxury. 

That done, Mrs. Scott’s friend had the good 
fortune to lay her hand on two of those emi- 
nent artists without whom the routine of a 
great house can neither be established nor 
carried on. The first, a chef of the first rank, 
who had just left an ancient mansion of the 
Faubourg St. -Germain, to his great regret, for 
he had aristocratic inclinations. 

“Never,” said he to Mrs. Norton, — “never 
would I have left the service of Madame la 
Duchesse if she had kept up her establishment 
on the same footing as formerly ; but Madame 
la Duchesse has four children, — two sons who 
have run through a good deal, and two 
daughters who will soon be of an age to marry ; 
they must have their dowries. Therefore 
Madame la Duchesse is obliged to draw in a 
little, and the house is no longer important 
enough for me. ” 

This distinguished character, of course, made 
his conditions. Though excessive, they' did 
not alarm Mrs. Norton, who knew that he was 
a man of the most serious merit; but he, 
before deciding, asked permission to telegraph 
to New York. He wished to make certain in- 
quiries. The reply was favorable ; he accepted. 

The second great artist was a stud-groom of 
the rarest and highest capacity, who was just 
about to retire after having made his fortune. 
He consented, however, to organize the stables 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


81 


for Mrs. Scott. It was thoroughly under- 
stood that he should have every liberty in pur- 
chasing the horses; that he should wear no 
livery; that he should choose the coachmen, 
the grooms, and every one connected with the 
stables; that he should never have less than 
fifteen horses in the stables, that no bargain 
should be made with the coach-builder or sad- 
dler without his intervention; and that he 
should never mount the box, except early in 
the morning, in plain clothes, to give lessons 
in driving to the ladies and children, if nec- 
essary. 

The cook took possession of his stores, and 
the stud-groom of his stables. Everything 
else was only a question of money, and with 
regard to this Mrs. Norton made full use of 
her extensive powers. She acted in con- 
formity with the instructions she had received. 
In the short space of two months she per- 
formed prodigies, and that is how, when, on 
the 15th of April, 1880, Mr. Scott, Suzie, and 
Bettina alighted from the mail train from 
Havre, at half- past four in the afternoon, they 
found Mrs. Norton at the station of St. La- 
zarre, who said : 

“Your caleche is there in the yard; behind 
it is a landau for the children ; and behind the 
landau is an omnibus for the servants. The 
three carriages bear your monogram, are 
driven by your coachmen, and drawn by your 
horses. Your address is 24 Rue Murillo, and 
here is the menu of your dinner to-night. You 
invited me two months ago; I accept, and will 

6 Abbo Constantin 


82 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


even take the liberty of bringing a dozen 
friends with me. I shall furnish everything, 
even the guests. But do not be alarmed; you 
know them all: they are mutual friends, and 
this evening we shall be able to judge of the 
merits of your cook. ” 

The first Parisian who had the honor and 
pleasure of paying homage to the beauty of 
Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival was a little “mar- 
miton” or baker’s boy of fifteen years old, who 
stood there in his white clothes, his wicker 
basket on his head, just as Mrs. Scott’s car- 
riage, entangled in the multitude of vehicles, 
was slowly working its way out of the station. 
The baker’s boy stopped short on the pave- 
ment, opened wide his eyes, looked at the two 
sisters with amazement, and boldly cast full 
in their faces the single word : 

“Mazette!” 

When Madame Recamier saw her first 
wrinkles and first gray hairs, she said to a 
friend — 

“Ah! my dear, there are no more illusions 
left forme! From the day when I saw that 
the little chimney-sweeps no longer turned 
round in the street to look at me, I understood 
that all was over ’’ 

The opinion of confectioners’ boys is, in sim- 
ilar cases, of equal value with the opinion of 
the little chimney-sweeps. All was not over 
for Suzie and Bettina; on the contrary, all was 
only beginning. 

Five minutes later, Mrs. Scott’s carriage 
was ascending the Boulevard Haussmann, to 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


83 


the slow and measured trot of a pair of admir- 
able horses. Paris counted two Parisians the 
more. 

The success of Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival 
was immediate, decisive, like a flash of light- 
ning. The beauties of Paris are not classed 
and catalogued like the beauties of London; 
they do not publish their portraits in the illus- 
trated papers, or allow their photograph to be 
sold at the stationers’. However, there is 
always a little staff, consisting of a score of 
women, who represent the grace, and charm, 
and beauty of Paris, which women, after ten 
or twelve years’ service, pass into the reserve, 
just like the old generals. Suzie and Bettina 
immediately became part of this little staff. 
It was an affair of four-and-twenty hours — of 
less than four-and-twenty hours, for all passed 
between eight in the morning and midnight 
the day after their arrival in Paris. 

Imagine a sort of little “feerie” in three acts, 
the success of which increases from tableau to 
tableau. 

ist. A ride at ten in the morning in the Bois, 
with the two marvelous grooms imported from 
America. 

2d. A walk at six o’clock in the “Allee des 
Acacias. ” 

3d. An appearance at the Opera at ten in 
the evening in Mrs. Norton’s box. 

The two new-comers were immediately re- 
marked, and appreciated as they deserved to 
be, by the thirty or forty persons who consti- 
tute a sort of mysterious tribunal, and who, in 


84 


HE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


the name of all Paris, pass sentences beyond 
appeal. These thirty or forty persons have 
from time to time the fancy to declare “deli- 
cious” some woman who is manifestly ugly. 
That is enough; she is “delicious” from that 
moment. 

The beauty of the two sisters was unques- 
tionable. In the morning it was their grace, 
their elegance, their distinction that attracted 
universal admiration ; in the afternoon it was 
declared that their walk had the freedom and 
ease of two young goddesses ; in the evening 
there was but one cry of rapture at the ideal 
perfection of their shoulders. From that mo- 
ment all Paris had for the two sisters the eyes 
of the little “marmiton” of the Rue d’ Amster- 
dam; all Paris repeated his “Mazette,” though 
naturally with the variations and developments 
imposed by the usages of the world. 

Mrs. Scott’s drawing-room immediately be- 
came the fashion. The habitues of three or 
four great American houses transferred them- 
selves in a body to the Scotts\ who had three 
hundred persons at their first Wednesday. 
Their circle rapidly increased; there was a lit- 
tle of everything to be found in their set — 
Americans, Spaniards, Italians, Hungarians, 
Russians, and even Parisians. 

When she had related her story to the Abbe 
Constantin, Mrs. Scott had not told all — one 
never does tell all. In a word, she was a co- 
quette. Mr. Scott had the most perfect con- 
fidence in his wife, and left her entire lib- 
erty. He was very little seen; he was an hon- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


85 


orable man, who felt a vague embarrassment 
at having made such a marriage, at having 
married so much money. Having a taste for 
business, he had great pleasure in devoting 
himself entirely to the administering of the 
two immense fortunes which were in his hands, 
in continually increasing them, and in saying 
every year to his wife and sister-in-law: 

“You are still richer than you were last 
year ! ’ ’ 

Not content with watching with much pru- 
dence and ability over the interests which he 
had left in America, he launched in France 
into large speculations, and was as successful 
in Paris as he had been in New York. In 
order to make money, the first thing is to have 
no need of it. 

They made love to Mrs. Scott to an enor- 
mous extent; they made love to her in French, 
in Italian, in English, in Spanish, for she 
knew those four languages, and there is one ad- 
vantage that foreigners have over our poor Par- 
isians, who generally know only their mother 
tongue, and have not the resource of interna- 
tional passions. 

Naturally, Mrs. Scott did not chase her 
adorers from her presence. She had ten, 
twenty, thirty at a time. No one could boast 
of any preference ; to all she opposed the same 
amiable, laughing, joyous resistance. It was 
clear to all that the game amused her, and 
that she did not for a moment take it seriously. 
Mr. Scott never felt a moment’s anxiety, and 
he was perfectly right. More, he enjoyed his 


86 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


wife’s successes; he was happy in seeing- her 
happy. He loved her dearly — a little more 
than she loved him. She loved him very 
much, and that was all. There is a great 
difference between dearly and very much when 
these two adverbs are placed after the verb to> 
love. 

As to Bettina, around her was a maddening" 
whirl, an orgy of adulation! Such a fortune! 
such beauty! Miss Percival arrived in Paris on* 
the 15th of April; a fortnight had not passed 
before the offers of marriage began to pour 
upon her. In the course of that first year she 
might, had she wished it, have been married 
thirty-four times, and to what a variety of 
suitors! 

Her hand was asked for a young exile, who,, 
under certain circumstances, might be called 
to ascend a throne — a very small one, it is true* 
but a throne nevertheless. 

Pier hand was asked for a young Duke, who* 
would make a great figure at Court when. 
France — as was inevitable — should recognize 
her errors, and bow down before her legiti- 
mate masters. 

Her hand was asked for a young Prince, 
who would have a place on the steps of the 
throne when France — as was inevitable — 
should again knit together the chain of the 
Napoleonic traditions. 

Her hand was asked for a young Republican 
deputy, who had just made a brilliant debut in 
the Chamber, and for whom the future re- 
served the most splendid destiny, for the Re- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


87 


public was now established in France on the 
most indestructible basis. 

Her hand was asked for a young Spaniard 
of the purest lineage, and she was given to 
understand that the contract would be signed 
in the palace of a queen who does not live far 
from the Arc de l’Etoile. Besides, one can 
find her address in the “Almanach Bottin," 
for at the present day there are queens who 
have their address in Bottin between an attor- 
ney and a druggist; it is only the kings of 
France who no longer live in France. 

Her hand was asked for the son of a peer of 
England, and for the son of a member of the 
highest Viennese aristocracy; for the son of a 
Parisian banker, and for the son of a Russian 
ambassador; for a Hungarian Count, and for 
an Italian Prince; and also for various excel- 
lent young men who wpre nothing and had 
nothing — neither name nor fortune; but Bet- 
tina had granted them a waltz, and, believing 
themselves irresistible, they hoped that they 
had caused a flutter of that little heart. 

But up to the present moment nothing had 
touched that little heart, and the reply had 
been the same to all — “No!" “No!" again 
“No!" always “No!" 

Some days after that performance of Aida, 
the two sisters had a rather long conversation 
on this great, this eternal question of mar- 
riage. A certain name had been pronounced 
by Mrs. Scott which had provoked on the part 
of Miss Percival the most decided and most 


88 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


energetic refusal, and Suzie had laughingly 
said to her sister: 

“But, Bettina, you will be obliged to end by 
marrying. ’’ 

“Yes, certainly, but I should be so sorry to 
marry without love. It seems to me that be- 
fore I could resolve to do such a thing I must be 
in danger of dying an old maid, and I am not 
yet that. ’’ 

“No, not yet. ” 

“Let us wait, let us wait.” 

“Let us wait. But among all these lovers 
whom you have been dragging after you for 
the last year, there have been some very nice, 
very amiable, and it is really a little strange if 
none of them — ’’ 

“Not one, Suzie, not one; absolutely not 
one. Why should I not tell you the truth? Is 
it their fault? Have they gone unskilfully to 
work? Could they, in managing better, have 
found the way to my heart? or is the fault in 
me? Is it, perhaps, that the way to my heart 
is a steep, rocky, inaccessible way, by which 
no one will ever pass? Am I a horrid little 
creature, arid, cold, and condemned never to 
love?” 

“I do not think so. “ 

“Neither do I, but up to the present time 
that is my history. No, I have never felt any- 
thing which resembled love. You are laugh- 
ing, and I can guess why. You are saying to 
yourself, ‘A little girl like that pretending to 
know what love is!’ You are right; I do not 
know, but I have a pretty good idea. To love 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


89 


— is it not to prefer to all in the world one cer- 
tain person?” 

‘‘Yes, it is really that.” 

‘‘Is it not never to weary of seeing that per- 
son, or of hearing him? Is it not to cease to 
live when he is not there, and to immediately 
begin to revive when he reappears?” 

‘‘Oh! but this is romantic love.” 

‘‘Well, that is the love of which I dream, and 
that is the love which does not come — not at 
all till now; and yet that person preferred by 
me to all and everything does exist. Do you 
know who it is?” 

“No, I do not know; I do not know, but I 
have a little suspicion.” 

“Yes, it is you, my dearest; and it is per- 
haps you, naughty sister, who makes me so in- 
sensible and cruel on this point. I love you 
too much ; you fill my heart ; you have occu- 
pied it entirely; there is no room for any one 
else. Prefer any one to you! love any one 
more than you! That will never, never 
be !” 

“Oh, yes, it will!” 

“Oh! no! Love differently, perhaps, but 
more — no. He must not count upon that, this 
gentleman whom I expect and who does not 
arrive. ’ ’ 

“Do not be afraid, my Betty; there is room 
in your heart for all whom you should love — 
for your husband, for your children, and that 
without your old sister losing anything. The 
heart is very little, but it is also very large.” 

Bettina tenderly kissed her sister; then rest- 


90 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


ing her head coaxingly on Suzie’s shoulder, she 
said: 

“If, however, you are tired of keeping me 
with you, if you are in a hurry to get rid of me, 
do you know what I will do? I will put the 
names of two of these gentlemen in a basket, 
and draw lots. There are two who at the last 
extremity would not be absolutely disagree- 
able. ” 

“Which two?” 

“Guess.” 

“Prince Roman elli.” 

“For one! And the other?” 

“Monsieur de Montessan. ” 

“Those are the two! It is just that. Those 
two would be acceptable, but only acceptable, 
and that is not enough. ” 

This is why Bettina awaited with extreme 
impatience the day when they should leave 
Paris, and take up their abode in Longueval. 
She was a little tired of so much pleasure, so 
much success, so many offers of marriage. 
The whirlpool of Parisian gayety had seized 
her on her arrival, and would not let her go, 
not for one hour of halt or rest. She felt the 
need of being given up to herself for a few 
days, to herself alone, to consult and question 
herself at her leisure, in the complete solitude 
of the country — in a word, to belong to herself 
again. 

So was not Bettina all sprightly and joyous 
when, on the 14th of June, they took the noon 
train for Longueval? As soon as she was alone 
in a compartment with her sister — 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


9 f 

“Ah,” she cried, “how happy I am! Let us 
breathe a little, quite alone, you and me, for a 
few days. The Nortons and Turners do not 
come till the 25th, do they?” 

“No, not till the 25th.” 

“We will pass our lives riding or driving in 
the woods, in the fields. Ten days of liberty! 
And during those ten days no more lovers, 
no more lovers! And all those lovers, with 
what are they in love — with me or my money? 
That is the mystery, the unfathomable mys- 
tery. ” 

The engine whistled; the train put itself 
slowly into motion. A wild idea entered Bet- 
tina’s head. She leant out of the window and 
cried, accompanying her words with a little 
wave of the hand: 

“Good-bye, my lovers, good-bye.” 

Then she threw herself suddenly into a cor- 
ner of the compartment with a hearty burst of 
laughter. 

“Oh! Suzie, Suzie!” 

“What is the matter?” 

“A man with a red flag in his hand; he saw 
me, and he looked so astonished.” 

“You are so irrational!” 

“Yes, it is true, to have called out of the 
window like that, but not to be happy at think- 
ing that we are going to live alone, en gar- 
cons. ' ’ 

“Alone! alone! Not exactly that. To begin 
with, we shall have two people to dinner to- 
night.” 

“Ah? that is true. But those two people, I 


92 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


shall not be at all sorry to see them again. 
Yes, I shall be very pleased to see the old Cure 
again, but especially the young officer." 

"What! especially?" 

"Certainly; because what the lawyer from 
Souvigny told us the other day is so touching, 
and what that great artilleryman did when 
he was quite little was so good, so good, that 
this evening I shall seek for an opportunity 
of telling him what I think of it, and I shall 
find one. " 

Then Bettina, abruptly changing the course 
of the conversation, continued: 

"Did they send the telegram yesterday to 
Edwards about the ponies?" 

"Yes, yesterday before dinner." 

"Oh! you will let me drive them up to the 
house. It will be such fun to go through the 
town, a.nd to drive up at full speed into the 
court in front of the entrance. Tell me, will 
you?" 

"Yes, certainly, you shall drive the ponies." 

"Oh, how nice of you, Suzie. " 

Edwards was the stud-groom. He had ar- 
rived at Longueval three days before. He 
deigned to come himself to meet Mrs. Scott 
and Miss Percival. He brought the phaeton 
drawn by the four black ponies. He was wait- 
ing at the station. The passage of the ponies 
through the principal street of the town had 
made a sensation. The population rushed out 
of their houses, and asked eagerly. 

"What is it? What can it be?” 

Some ventured the opinion: 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


93 


“It is, perhaps, a traveling circus.” 

But exclamations arose on all sides. 

“You did not notice the style of it — the car- 
riage and the harness shining like gold, and 
the little horses with white rosettes on each 
side of their heads.” 

The crowd collected around the station, and 
those who were curious learnt that they were 
going to witness the arrival of the new owners 
of Longueval. They were slightly disenchant- 
ed when the two sisters appeared, very pretty, 
but in very simple traveling costumes. These 
good people had almost expected the appari- 
tion of two princesses out of fairy tales, clad in 
silk and brocade, sparkling with rubies and 
diamonds. But they opened wide their eyes 
when they saw Bettina walk slowly round the 
four ponies, caressing one after the other 
lightly with her hand, and examining all the 
details of the team with the air of a connoisseur. 

Having made her inspection, Bettina, with- 
out the least hurry, drew off her long Swedish 
gloves, and replaced them by a pair of dog- 
skin which she took from the pocket of the car- 
riage apron. Then she slipped on to the box 
in the place of Edwards, receiving from him 
the reins and whip with extreme dexterity, 
without allowing the already excited horses to 
perceive that they had changed hands. 

Mrs. Scott seated herself beside her sister. 

The ponies pranced, curvetted, and threat- 
ened to rear. 

“Be very careful, mademoiselle,” said Ed- 
wards; “the ponies are very fresh to-day.” 


94 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Do not be afraid,” replied Bettina. “I 
know them. ” 

Miss Percival had a hand at once very firm, 
very light, and very just. She held in the 
ponies for a few moments, forcing them to 
keep their own places; then, waving the long 
thong of her whip round the leaders, she 
started her little team at once, with incompar- 
able skill, and left the station with an air of 
triumph, in the midst of a long murmur of 
astonishment and admiration. 

The trot of the black ponies rang on the lit- 
tle oval paving-stones of Souvigny. Bettina 
held them well together until she had left the 
town, but as soon as she saw before her a clear 
mile and a half of high-road — almost on a dead 
level — she let them gradually increase their 
speed, till they went like the wind. 

“Oh, how happy I am, Suzie!” cried she; 
“and we shall trot and gallop all alone on these 
roads. Suzie, would you like to drive? It is 
such a delight when one can let them go at 
full speed. They are so spirited and so gentle. 
Come, take the reins. ” 

“No; keep them. It is a greater pleasure 
to me to see you happy.” 

“Oh! as to that, lam perfectly happy. I 
do like so much to drive four-in-hand with 
plenty of space before me. At Paris, even in 
the morning, I did not dare to any longer. I 
was stared at so, it annoyed me. But here — 
no one! no one! no one!” 

At the moment when Bettina, already a lit- 
tle intoxicated with the bracing air and lib- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


95 


erty, gave forth triumphantly these three ex- 
clamations, “No one! no one! no one!” a rider 
appeared, walking his horse in the direction of 
the carriage. It was Paul de Lavardens. He 
had been watching for more than an hour for 
the pleasure of seeing the Americans pass. 

“You are mistaken,” said Suzie to Bettina, 
“there is some one.” 

“A peasant; they don’t count; they won’t 
ask me to marry them.” 

“It is not a peasant at all. Look!” 

Paul de Lavardens, while passing the car- 
riage, made the two sisters a highly correct 
bow, from which one at once scented the Pari- 
sian. 

The ponies were going at such a rate that 
the meeting was over like a flash of lightning. 

Bettina cried: 

“Who is that gentleman who has just bowed 
to us?” 

“I had scarcely time to see, but I seemed to 
recognize him. ” 

“You recognized him?” 

“Yes, and I would wager that I have seen 
him at our house this winter.” 

“Heavens! if it should be one of the thirty- 
four? Is all that going to begin again?” 


96 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


CHAPTER VI. 

That same day at half-past seven Jean went 
to fetch the Cure, and the two walked to- 
gether up to the house. During the last 
month a perfect army of workmen had taken 
possession of Longueval; all the inns in the 
village were making their fortunes. Immense 
furniture wagons brought cargoes of furniture 
and decorations from Paris. Forty-eight 
hours before the arrival of Mrs. Scott, Made- 
moiselle Marbeau, the post-mistress, and 
Madame Lormier, the mayoress, had wormed 
themselves into the castle, and the account 
they gave of the interior turned every one’s 
head. The old furniture had disappeared, 
banished to the attics ; one moved amongst a 
perfect accumulation of wonders. And the 
stables! and the coach-houses! A special 
train had brought from Paris, under the high 
superintendence of Edwards, a dozen car- 
riages — and such carriages! Twenty horses — 
and such horses! 

The Abbe Constantin thought that he knew 
what luxury was. Once a year he dined with 
his bishop, Monseigneur Faubert, a rich and 
amiable prelate, who entertained rather largely. 
The Cure, till now, had thought that there 
was nothing in the world more sumptuous than 



Mrs. Scott’s drawing-room became the fashion.” — Page 84. 

The Abbe Constantin. 
































* 


















■ 




THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


97 


the episcopal palace of Souvigny, or the cas- 
tles of Lavardens and Longueval. 

He began to understand from what he was 
told of the new splendors of Longueval, that 
the luxury of the great houses of the present 
day must surpass to a singular degree the 
sober and severe luxury of the great houses of 
former times. 

As soon as the Cure and Jean had entered 
the avenue in the park, which led to the 
house — 

“Look! Jean,” said the Cure; “what a 
change ! All this part of the park used to be 
quite neglected, and now all the paths are 
graveled and raked. I shall not be able to 
feel myself at home as I used to do; it will be 
too grand. I shall not find again my old 
brown velvet easy-chair, in which I so often 
fell asleep after dinner; and if I fall asleep this 
evening what will become of me? You will 
think of it, Jean, and if you see that I begin 
to forget myself, you will come behind me 
and pinch my arm gently, won’t you! You 
promise me?” 

“Certainly, certainly, I promise you." 

Jean paid but slight attention to the conver- 
sation of the Cure. He felt extremely impa- 
tient to see Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival 
again ; but this impatience was mingled with 
very keen anxiety. Would he find them, in 
the great salon at Longueval, the same as he 
had seen them in the little dining-room at the 
vicarage? Perhaps, instead of those two 
women, so perfectly simple and familiar, 

7 Abbe Constantin 


98 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


amusing themselves with this little improvised 
dinner, and who, the very first day, had 
treated him with so much grace and cordiality, 
perhaps he would find two pretty dolls, — 
worldly, elegant, cold, and correct? Would his 
first impression be effaced? Would it dis- 
appear? or, on the contrary, would the impres- 
sion in his heart become still sweeter and 
deeper? 

They ascended the six steps at the entrance, 
and were received in the hall by two tall foot- 
men of the most dignified and imposing appear- 
ance. This hall had been a vast, frigid apart- 
ment, with bare stone walls. These walls 
were now covered with admirable tapestry, 
representing mythological subjects. The Cure 
dared scarcely glance at this tapestry; it was 
enough for him to perceive that the goddess- 
es who wandered through these shades wore 
costumes of antique simplicity. 

One of the footmen opened wide the fold- 
ing-doors of the salon. It was there that one 
had generally found the old Marquise, on the 
right of the high chimney-piece, and on the 
left had stood the brown velvet easy-chair. 

No brown easy-chair now! That old relic of 
the Empire, which was the basis of the 
arrangement of the salon, had been replaced 
by a marvelous specimen of tapestry of the 
end of the last century. Then a crowd of lit- 
tle easy-chairs, and ottomans of all forms and 
all colors, were scattered here and there with 
an appearance of disorder which was the per- 
fection of art. . 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


99 


As soon as Mrs. Scott saw the Cure and 
Jean enter, she rose, and going to meet them, 
said : 

“How kind of you to come, Monsieur le 
Cure, and you too, Monsieur Jean. How 
pleased I am to see you, my first, my only 
friends down here!’’ 

Jean breathed again. It was the same 
woman. 

“Will you allow me,’’ added Mrs. Scott, “to 
introduce my children to you. Harry and 
Bella, come here. ’’ 

Harry was a very pretty little boy of six, and 
Bella a charming little girl of five years old. 
They had their mother’s large dark eyes and 
her golden hair. 

After the Cure had kissed the two children, 
Harry, who was looking with admiration at 
Jean’s uniform, said to his mother: 

“And the soldier, mamma, must we kiss him 
too?’’ 

“If you like,’’ replied Mrs. Scott, “and if 
he will allow it?’’ 

A moment after, the two children were in- 
stalled upon Jean’s knees, and overwhelming 
him with questions. 

“Are you an officer?’’ 

“Yes, I am an officer.’’ 

“What in?’’ 

“In the artillery. ’’ 

“The artillery ! Oh ! you are one of the men 
who fire the cannons Oh, how I should like 
to be quite near when they fire the can- 
nons!’’ 


100 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Will you take us some day when they fire 
the cannons? Tell me, will you?” 

Meanwhile Mrs. Scott chatted with the 
Cure, and Jean, while replying to the chil- 
dren’s questions, looked at Mrs. Scott. She 
wore a white muslin dress, but the muslin dis- 
appeared under a complete avalanche of little 
flounces of Valenciennes. The dress was cut 
out in front in a large square, her arms were 
bare to the elbow, a large bouquet of red roses 
at the opening of her dress, a red rose fixed in 
her hair with a diamond agraffe — nothing 
more. 

Mrs. Scott suddenly perceived that the chil- 
dren had taken entire possession of Jean, and 
exclaimed : 

“ Oh ! I beg your pardon. H arry , Bella ! ’ * 

“Oh! pray let them stay with me.’’ 

“I am so sorry to keep you waiting for din- 
ner; my sister is not down yet. Oh, here she 
is!” 

Bettina entered. The same dress of white 
muslin, the same delicate mass of lace, the same 
red roses; the same grace, the same beauty, 
and the same smiling, amiable, candid manner. 

“How do you do, Monsieur le Cure? I am 
delighted to see you. Have you pardoned my 
dreadful intrusion of the other day?’’ 

Then turning toward Jean and offering him 
her hand: 

“How do you do, Monsieur — Monsieur — 
Oh! I cannot remember your name, and yet 
we seem to be already old friends, Monsieur — ’’ 

“Jean Reynaud. ’’ 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


101 


“Jean Reynaud, that is it. How do you do, 
Monsieur Reynaud? I warn you faithfully 
that when we really are old friends — that is to 
say, in about a week — I shall call you Monsieur 
Jean. It is a pretty name, Jean.” 

Dinner was announced. Mrs. Scott took the 
Cure’s arm; Bettina took Jean’s. Up to the 
moment when Bettina appeared Jean had said 
to himself, “Mrs. Scott is the prettier!” 
When he felt Bettina’s little hand slip into his 
arm, and when she turned toward him her 
delicious face, he said, “Miss Percival is the 
prettier!” 

But his perplexities gathered round him 
again when he was seated between the two 
sisters. If he looked to the right, love threat- 
ened him from that direction, and if he looked 
to the left, the danger removed immediately, 
and passed to the left. 

Conversation began, easy, animated, confi- 
dential. The two sisters were charmed; they 
had already walked in the park ; they promised 
themselves a long ride in the forest to-mor- 
row. Riding was their delight, their passion. 
It was also Jean’s passion, so that after a quar- 
ter of an hour they begged him to join them 
the next day. He gladly accepted. There 
was no one who knew the country round bet- 
ter than he did; it was his native place. He 
would be so happy to do the honors of it, and 
to show them numbers of delightful little spots 
which, without him, they would never dis- 
cover. 

“Do you ride every day?” asked Bettina. 


102 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Every day, and sometimes twice. In the 
morning I am on duty, and in the evening I 
ride for my own pleasure.” 

“Early in the morning?” 

“At half-past five.” 

“At half-past five every morning?” 

“Yes, except Sunday.” 

“Then you get up — ” 

“At half-past four.” 

“And is it light?” 

“Oh! just now, broad daylight.” 

“To get up at half-past four is admirable; 
we often finish our day just when yours is be- 
ginning. And are you fond of your profes- 
sion?” 

“Very. It is an excellent thing to have 
one’s life plain before one, with exact and defi- 
nite duties.” 

“And yet,” said Mrs. Scott, “not to be one’s 
own master — to be always obliged to obey!” 

“That is perhaps what suits me best; there 
is nothing easier than to obey, and then to 
learn to obey is the only way of learning to 
command. ” 

“Ah! since you say so, it must be true.” 

“Yes, no doubt,” added the Cure; “but he 
does not tell you that he is the most distin- 
guished officer in his regiment, that — ” 

“Oh! pray do not.” 

The Cure, in spite of Jean’s resistance, was 
about to launch into a panegyric on his god- 
son, when Bettina, interposing, said: 

“It is unnecessary, Monsieur le Cure, do not 
say anything, we know already all that you 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


103 


would tell us; we have been so indiscreet as to 
make inquiries about Monsieur — Oh! I was 
just going to say Monsieur Jean — about Mon- 
sieur Reynaud. Well, the information we re- 
ceived was excellent!” 

‘‘I am curious to know,” said Jean. 

“Nothing! nothing! you shall know noth- 
ing. I do not wish to make you blush, and 
you would be obliged to blush.” 

Then turning toward the Cure, “And about 
you, too, Monsieur l’Abbe, we have had some 
information. It appears that you are a saint.” 

“Oh! as to that, it is perfectly true,” cried 
Jean. 

It was the Cure this time who cut short the 
eloquence of Jean. Dinner was almost over. 
The old priest had not got through this dinner 
without experiencing many emotions. They 
had repeatedly presented to him complicated 
and scientific constructions upon which he had 
only ventured with a trembling hand. He was 
afraid of seeing the whole crumble beneath 
his touch; the trembling castles of jelly, the 
pyramids of truffles, the fortresses of cream, 
the bastions of pastry, the rocks of ice. 
Otherwise the Abbe Constantin dined with 
an excellent appetite, and did not recoil before 
two or three glasses of champagne. He was 
no foe to good cheer; perfection is not of this 
world: and if gormandizing were, as they say, 
a cardinal sin, how many good priests would 
be damned! 

Coffee was served on the terrace in front of 
the house; in the distance was heard the 


104 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


harsh voice of the old village clock striking 
nine. Woods and fields were slumbering; the 
avenues in the park showed only as long, un- 
dulating, and undecided lines. The moon 
slowly rose over the tops of the great trees. 

Bettina took a box of cigars from the 
table. 

“Do you smoke?” said she. 

“Yes, Miss Percival. ” 

“Take one, Monsieur Jean. It can’t be 
helped, I have said it. Take one — but no, lis- 
ten to me first. ” 

And speaking in a low voice while offering 
him the box of cigars — 

“It is getting dark, now you may blush at 
your ease. I will tell you what I did not say 
at dinner. An old lawyer in Souvigny, who 
was your guardian, came to see my sister in 
Paris about the payment for the place ; he told 
us what you did after your father’s death, 
when you were only a child, — what you did 
for that poor mother, and for that poor young 
girl. Both my sister and I were much 
touched by it.” 

“Yes,” continued Mrs. Scott, “and that is 
why we have received you to-day with so 
much pleasure. We should not have given 
such a reception to every one, of that you may 
be sure. Well, now take your cigar, my sis- 
ter is waiting. ” 

Jean could not find a word in reply. Bettina 
stood there with the box of cigars in her two 
hands, her eyes fixed frankly on Jean’s counte- 
nance. At the moment she tasted a true and 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


105 


keen pleasure which may be expressed by this 
phrase : 

“It seems to me that I see before me a man 
of honor. ” 

“And now,” said Mrs. Scott, “let us sit here 
and enjoy this delicious night; take your coffee, 
smoke — ” 

“And do not let us talk, Suzie, do not let us 
talk. This great silence of the country, after 
the great noise and bustle of Paris, is delight- 
ful! Let us sit here without speaking; let us 
look at the sky, the moon, and the stars.” 

All four, with much pleasure, carried out this 
little programme. Suzie and Bettina, calm, 
reposeful, absolutely separated from their 
existence of yesterday, already felt a tender- 
ness for the place which had just received 
them, and was going to keep them. Jean was 
less tranquil ; Miss Percival’s words had caused 
him profound emotion, his heart had not yet 
quite regained its regular throb. 

But the happiest of all was the Abbe Con- 
stantin. This little episode which had caused 
Jean’s modesty such a rude, yet sweet trial, 
had brought him exquisite joy, the Abbe bore 
his godson such affection. The most tender 
father never loved more warmly the dearest of 
his children. When the old Cure looked at the 
young officer he often said to himself: 

“Heaven has been too kind; I am a priest, 
and I have a son !” 

The Abbe sank into a very agreeable revery ; 
he felt himself at home, he felt himself too 
much at home ; by degrees his ideas became 


106 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


hazy and confused, revery became drowsiness, 
drowsiness became slumber, the disaster was 
soon complete, irreparable; the Cure slept, and 
slept profoundly. This marvelous dinner, and 
the two or three glasses of champagne, may 
have had something to do with the catastrophe. 

Jean perceived nothing; he had forgotten the 
promise made to his godfather. And why had 
he forgotten it? Because Mrs. Scott and Miss 
Percival had thought proper to put their feet 
on the foot-stools, placed in front of their 
wicker garden-chairs filled with cushions; 
then they had thrown themselves lazily back 
in their chairs, and their muslin skirts had 
become raised a little, a very little, but yet 
enough to display four little feet, the lines of 
which showed very distinctly and clearly, be- 
neath two pretty clouds of white lace. Jean 
looked at these little feet, and asked himself 
this question : 

“Which are the smaller?” 

While he was trying to solve this problem, 
Bettina all at once said to him in a low voice: 

‘ 4 Monsieur J ean ! Monsieur J ean ! ’ * 

“Miss Percival!” 

“Look at the Cure; he is asleep.” 

“Ob' it is my fault. ” 

“How your fault?” asked Mrs. Scott, also in 
a low voice. 

“Yes; my godfather rises at daybreak, and 
goes to bed very early ; he told me to be sure 
and prevent his falling asleep; when Madame 
de Longueval was here, he very often had a 
nap after dinner. You have shown him so 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


107 


much kindness that he has fallen back into his 
old habits. ” 

“And he is perfectly right, ’’ said Bettina; 
“do not make a noise, do not wake him.” 

“You are too good, Miss Percival, but the 
air is getting a little fresh.” 

“Ah! that is true, he might catch cold. 
Stay, I will go and fetch a wrap for him. ” 

“I think. Miss Percival, it would be better 
to try and wake him skillfully, so that he 
should not suspect that you had seen him 
asleep. ” 

“Let me do it,” said Bettina. “Suzie, let us 
sing together, very softly at first, then we will 
raise our voices little by little; let us sing.” 
“Willingly; but what shall we sing?” 

“Let us sing‘Quelque chose d’enfantin,’ the 
words are appropriate. ’ ’ 

Suzie and Bettina began to sing: 

If I had but two little wings. 

And were a little feathery bird. 

Their sweet and penetrating voices had an 
exquisite sonority in that profound silence. 
The Abbe heard nothing, did not move. 
Charmed with this little concert, Jean said to 
himself : 

“Heaven grant that my godfather may not 
wake too soon!” 

The voices became clearer and louder: 

But in ray sleep to you I fly. 

I’m always with you in my sleep. 

Yet the Abbe did not stir. 


108 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“How he sleeps!” said Suzie; “it is a crime 
to wake him. ” 

“But we must; louder, Suzie, louder.” 

Suzie and Bettina both gave free scope to the 
power of their voices. 

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids, 

So I love to wake ere break of day. 

The Cure woke with a start. After a short 
moment of anxiety he breathed again. Evi- 
dently no one had noticed that he had been 
asleep. He collected himself, stretched him- 
self prudently, slowly — he was saved! 

A quarter of an hour later the two sisters 
accompanied the Cure and Jean to the little 
gate of the park, which opened into the village 
a few rods from the vicarage ; they had nearly 
reached the gate when Bettina said all at once 
to Jean: 

“Ah! all this time I have had a question to 
ask you. This morning when we arrived, we 
met on the way a slight young man, with a fair 
moustache, he was riding a black horse, and 
bowed to us as we passed.” 

“It was Paul de Lavardens, one of my 
friends; he has already had the honor of being 
introduced to you, but rather vaguely, and his 
ambition is to be presented again.” 

“Well, you shall bring him one of these 
days,” said Mrs. Scott. 

“After the twenty-fifth!” cried Bettina. 
“Not before! not before! No one till then; 
till then we will see no one but you, Monsieur 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


109 


Jean. But you, — it is very extraordinary, and 
I don’t quite know how it has happened, you 
don’t seem anybody to us. The compliment 
is perhaps not very well turned, but do not 
make a mistake, it is a compliment. I 
intended to be excessively amiable in speaking 
to you thus.” 

‘‘And so you are, Miss Percival.” 

‘‘So much the better if I have been so for- 
tunate as to make myself understood. Good- 
bye Monsieur Jean — till to-morrow!” 

Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival returned slowly 
toward the castle. 

‘‘And now, Suzie, ” said Bettina, ‘‘scold me 
well, — I expect it, I have deserved it” 

‘‘Scold you! Why?” 

‘‘You are going to say, I am sure, that I 
have been too familiar with that young 
man.” 

“No, I shall not say that. From the first 
day that young man has made the most favor- 
able impression upon me ; he inspires me with 
perfect confidence. ’ ’ 

“And so he does me.” 

“I am persuaded that it would be well for us 
both to try to make a friend of him.” 

“With all my heart, as far as I am concerned, 
so much the more as I have seen many young 
men since we have lived in France. Oh, yes, 
I have, indeed! Well, this is the first, posi- 
tively the first, in whose eyes I have not clearly 
read, ‘Oh, how glad I should be to marry that 
little body’s millions!’ That was written in 
the eyes of all the others, but not in his eyes. 


110 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Now, here we are at home again. Good-night, 
Suzie — to-morrow.” 

Mrs. Scott went to see and kiss her sleeping 
children. 

Bettina remained long, leaning on the balus- 
trade of her balcony. 

‘‘It seems to me,” said she, ‘‘that I am 
going to be very fond of this place. ” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Ill 


CHAPTER VII. 

The next morning, on returning from drill, 
Jean found Paul de Lavardens waiting for him 
at the barracks ; he scarcely allowed him time 
to dismount, and the moment he had him 
alone — 

“Quick,” said he, “describe your dinner- 
party of yesterday. I saw them myself in the 
morning; the little one was driving four pon- 
ies, and with an amount of audacity. I bowed 
to them; did you mention me? Did they 
recognize me? When will you take we to 
Longueval? Answer me.” 

“Answer? yes. But which question first?” 

“The last.” 

“When will I take you to Longueval?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, in ten days; they don’t want to see 
any one just now. ” 

“Then you are not going back to Longueval 
for ten days?” 

“Oh ! I shall go back to-day at four o’clock. 
But I don’t count, you know. Jean Reynaud, 
the Cure’s godson. That is why I have pene- 
trated so easily into the confidence of these two 
charming women. I have presented myself 
under the patronage and with the guarantee of 
the Church. And then they have discovered 


112 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


that I could render them little services. I 
know the country very well, and they will 
make use of me as a guide. In a word, I am 
nobody ; while you, Count Paul de Lavardens, 
you are somebody; so fear nothing, your turn 
will come with the fetes and balls. Then you 
will be resplendent in all your glory, and I 
shall return very humbly into my obscurity. ’’ 

“You may laugh at me as much as you like; 
it is none the less true that during these ten 
days you will steal a march upon me— upon, 
me!” 

“How upon you?” 

“Now, Jean, do you want to make me 
believe that you are not already in love with 
one of these two women? Is it possible? 
Such beauty, such luxury ! Perhaps the lux- 
ury even more than the beauty. Luxury to 
that degree upsets me. Those black ponies 
with their white rosettes! I dreamt of them 
last night, and that little — Bettina, is it not?” 

“Yes, Bettina." 

“Bettina — Countess Bettina de Lavardens! 
Doesn’t that sound well enough? and what a 
perfect husband she would have in me ! To 
be the husband of a woman possessing bound- 
less wealth, that is my destiny. It is not so 
easy as one may suppose. One must know 
how to be rich. I have already run through 
something, and — if my mother had not stopped 
me — but I am quite ready to begin again. Oh, 
how happy that girl would be with me ! I 
should create around her the existence of a 
fairy queen. In all her luxury she would feel 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


113 


her husband’s taste, art, and skill. I would 
pass my life in adoring her, in displaying her 
beauty, in petting her, in bearing her tri- 
umphant through the world. I would study 
her beauty in order to give it the frame that 
best suited it. ‘If he were not there,’ she 
would say, ‘I should not be so beautiful, so 
dazzling. ’ I should know not only how to love 
her, but how to amuse her. She would have 
something for her money, — she would have 
love and pleasure. Come, Jean, do a good 
action, take me to Mrs. Scott’s to-day.” 

“I cannot, I assure you.” 

“Well, then, in ten days; but I give you 
fair notice, I shall install myself at Longueval, 
and shall not move. In the first place, it would 
please my mother; she is still a little preju- 
diced against these Americans. She says that 
she shall arrange not to see them ; but I know 
my mother. Some day, when I go home in 
the evening and tell her: Mother, I have won 
the heart of a charming little person who is 
burdened with a capital of twenty millions — 
they exaggerate when they talk of hundreds 
of millions. You know these are the correct 
figures, and they are enough for me. That 
evening, then, my mother will be delighted, 
because in her heart what is it she desires for 
me? W T hat all good mothers desire for their 
sons, — a good marriage, or a discreet liaison, 
with some one in society. At Longueval I find 
these two essentials, and I will accommodate 
myself very willingly to either. You will have 
the kindness to warn me in ten days — you will 

8 Abbe Constantin 


114 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


let me know which of the two you abandon to 
me, Mrs. Scott or Miss Percival.” 

“You are mad, you are quite mad! I do not, 
I never shall think” — 

“Listen, Jean. You are wisdom personified; 
you may say and do as you like, but remember 
what I say to you, Jean, you will fall in love 
in that house.” 

“I tio not believe it,” replied Jean, laughing-. 

“But I am absolutely sure of it. Good-bye. 
I leave you to your duties.” 

That morning Jean was perfectly sincere, 
lie had slept very well the previous night; 
the second interview with the two sisters had, 
as if by enchantment, dissipated the slight 
trouble which had agitated his soul after the 
first meeting. He prepared to meet them 
again, with much pleasure, but also with much 
tranquillity ; there was too much money in that 
house to permit the love of a poor devil like 
Jean to find place honestly there. 

Friendship was another affair; with all his 
heart he wished, and with all his strength he 
would seek, to establish himself peacefully in 
the esteem and regard of the sisters. He 
would try y not to remark too much the beauty 
of Suzie and Bettina; he would try not to for- 
get himself as he had done the previous even- 
ing, in the contemplation of the four little feet 
resting on their footstools. They had said, 
very frankly, very cordially, to him, “You 
shall be our friend.” That was all he desired 
— to be their friend — and that he would be. 

During the ten days that followed, all con- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


115 


duced to the success of this enterprise. Suzie, 
Bettina, the Cure, and Jean led the same life 
in the closest and most cordial intimacy. 

Jean did not seek to analyze his feelings. 
He felt for these two women an equal affec- 
tion ; he was perfectly happy, perfectly tran- 
quil. Then he was not in love, for love and 
tranquillity seldom dwell at peace in the same 
heart. 

Jean, however, with a little anxiety and sad- 
ness, saw the day approach which would bring 
to Longueval the Turners and the Nortons and 
the whole force of the American colony. The 
day came too soon. 

On Friday, the 24th of June, at four o’clock, 
Jean arrived at the castle. Bettina received 
him alone, looking quite vexed. 

“How annoying it is,” said she, “my sister 
is not well; a little headache, nothing of con- 
sequence, it will be gone by to-morrow, but I 
dare not ride with you alone. In America I 
might, but here it would not do, would it?” 

“Certainly not,’’ replied Jean. 

“I must send you back, and I am so sorry.’’ 

“And so am I — I am very sorry to be obliged 
to go, and to lose this last day, which I had 
hoped to pass with you. However, since it 
must be, I will come to-morrow to inquire 
after your sister. ’’ 

“She will see you herself to-morrow; I 
repeat, it is nothing serious. But do not run 
away in such a hurry, pray; will you not spare 
me a little quarter of an hour’s conversation? 
I want to speak to you; sit down there, and 


116 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


now listen to me attentively. My sister and I 
had intended this evening after dinner to 
blockade you into a little corner of the drawing- 
room, and then she meant to tell you what I 
am going to try to say for us both. But I am 
a little nervous. Do not laugh ; it is a very 
serious matter. We wish to thank you for 
having been, ever since our arrival here, so 
good to us both. ” 

“Oh!” Miss Percival, pray, it is you who — ” 

“Oh! do not interrupt me, you will quite 
confuse me. I do not know how to get 
through with it. I maintain, besides, that the 
thanks are due from us, not from you. We 
arrived here two strangers. We have been for- 
tunate enough to find friends immediately. 
Yes, friends. You have taken us by the hand, 
you have led us into the homes of our farmers, 
of our keepers; while your godfather took us 
to his poor people — and everywhere you were 
so much beloved, that from their confidence in 
you, they began, on your recommendation, to 
like us a little. You are adored about here; 
do you know that?” 

“I was born here — all these good people 
have known me from my infancy, and are 
grateful to me for what my grandfather and 
father did for them ; and then I am of their 
race, the race of the peasants; my great-grand- 
father was a farmer at Bargecourt, a village 
two miles from here. ” 

“Oh! oh! you appear very proud of that!” 

“Neither proud nor ashamed.” 

“I beg your pardon, you made a little move- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


117 


ment of pride. Well, I can tell you that my 
mother’s great-grandfather was a farmer in 
Brittany. He went to Canada at the end of 
the last century, when Canada belonged still 
to France. And you love very much this 
region where you were born?” 

‘‘Very much. Perhaps I shall soon be 
obliged to leave it.” 

‘‘Why?” 

“When I get promotion, I shall have to ex- 
change into another regiment, and I shall 
wander from garrison to garrison; but cer- 
tainly, when I am an old commandant or old 
colonel, on half-pay, I shall come back, and 
live and die here, in the little house that was 
my father’s. ” 

“Always quite alone?” 

“Why quite alone? I certainly hope not. ” 

“You intend to marry?” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“You are trying to get married?” 

“No; one may think of marrying, but one 
ought not to try to marry.” 

“And yet there are people who do try. 
Come, I can answer for that, and you, even; 
people have wished to find you a wife.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Oh! I know all your little affairs so well; 
you are what they call a good match, and I re- 
peat it, they have wished to find you a wife.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Monsieur le Cure.” 

“Then he was very wrong,” said Jean, with 
a certain sharpness. 


118 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“No, no, he was not wrong. If any one has 
been to blame it is I. I soon discovered that 
your godfather was never so happy as when 
he was speaking of you. So when I was alone- 
with him during our walks, to please him, I 
talked of you, and he related your history to- 
me. You are well off, you are very well off; 
from Government you receive every month 
two hundred and thirteen francs and some 
centimes; am I correct?” 

“Yes,” said Jean, deciding to endure with a. 
good grace his share in the Cure’s indiscre- 
tions. 

“You have eight thousand francs income.” 

“Nearly, not quite.” 

“Add to that your house, which is worth 
thirty thousand francs. Moreover, you are in 
an excellent position, and people have asked 
for your hand. ’ ’ 

“Asked for my hand! No, no.” 

“They have, they have, twice, and you have 
refused two very good marriages, two very 
good fortunes, if you prefer it — it is the same 
thing for so many people. Two hundred 
thousand francs in the one case, three hundred 
thousand in the other. It appears that these 
fortunes are enormous for the country! Yet 
you have refused! Tell me why. If you only 
knew how eager I am to know!” 

“Well, it concerned two charming girls.” 

“That is understood. One always says 
that.” 

“But whom I scarcely knew. They forced 
me — for I did resist — they forced me to spend 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


119 


two or three evenings with them last win- 
ter. ” 

“And then?” 

“Then — I don’t quite know how to explain 
it to you. I did not feel the slightest touch 
of embarrassment, emotion, anxiety, or dis- 
turbance—” 

“In fact,” said Bettina, resolutely, “not the 
least suspicion of love. ” 

“No, not the least; and I returned quite 
calmly to my bachelor den, for I think it is 
better not to marry than to marry without 
love. ’ ’ 

“And I think so too.” 

She looked at him, and he looked at her, and 
suddenly, to the great surprise of both, they 
found nothing more to say, — nothing at all. 

At this moment Harry and Bella rushed into 
the room with cries of joy. 

“Monsieur Jean! Are you there? Come 
and see our ponies.” 

“ Ah !” said Bettina, her voice a little uncer- 
tain “Edwards has just come back from Paris, 
and has brought two microscopic ponies for 
the children. Let us go and see them, shall 
we?” 

They went to see the ponies, which were 
indeen worthy to figure in the stables of the 
King of Lilliput. 


120 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Three weeks have glided by; another day 
and Jean will be obliged to leave with his reg- 
iment for the artillery practice. He will lead 
the life of a soldier. Ten days’ march on the 
high-road going and returning, and ten days 
in the camp at Cercottes in the Forest of 
Orleans. The regiment will return to Sou- 
vigny on the ioth of August. 

Jean is no longer tranquil; Jean is no longer 
happy. With impatience, and at the same 
time with terror, he sees the moment of his 
departure approach. With impatience — for he 
is suffering an absolute martyrdom, he longs 
to escape it; with terror — for to pass twenty 
days without seeing her, without speaking to 
her, without her, in a word — what will become 
of him? Her! It is Bettina; he adores her! 

Since when? Since the first day, since that 
meeting in the month of May in the Cure’s 
garden. That is the truth; but Jean struggles 
against and resists that truth. He believes that 
he has only loved Bettina since the day when 
the two chatted gayly, amicably, in the little 
drawing-room. She was sitting on the blue 
couch near the window, and while talking 
amused herself with repairing the disorder of 
the dress of a Japanese princess, one of Bella’s 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


121 


dolls, which had been left on a chair, and 
which Bettina had mechanically taken up. 

Why had the fancy come to Miss Percival to 
talk to him of those two young girls whom he 
might have married? The question in itself 
was not at all embarrassing to him. He had 
replied that, if he had not then felt any taste 
for marriage, it was because his interviews 
with these two girls had not caused him any 
emotion or any agitation. He had smiled in 
speaking thus, but a few minutes after he 
smiled no more. This emotion, this agitation, 
he had suddenly learnt to know them. Jean 
did not deceive himself ; he acknowledged the 
depth of the wound; it had penetrated to his 
very heart’s core. 

He, however, did not abandon himself to 
this emotion. He said to himself : 

“Yes, it is serious, very serious, but I shall 
recover from it. ’ * 

He sought an excuse for his madness; he 
laid the blame on circumstances. For ten 
days this delightful girl had been too much 
with him, too much with him alone! How 
could he resist such a temptation? He was 
intoxicated with her charm, with her grace and 
beauty. But the next day a troop of visitors 
would arrive at Longueval, and there would 
be an end of this dangerous intimacy. He 
would be courageous; he would keep at a dis- 
tance; he would lose himself in the crowd, 
would see Bettina less often and less familiarly* 
To see her no more was a thought he could 
not support! He wished to remain Bettina’s 


122 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


friend, since he could be nothing but her 
friend; for there was another thought which 
scarcely entered his mind. This thought did 
not appear extravagant to him: il appeared 
monstrous. In the whole world there was not 
a more honorable man than Jean, and he felt 
for Bettina’s money horror, positive horror. 

From the 25th of June the crowd had been 
in possession of Longueval. Mrs. Norton 
arrived with her son, Daniel Norton, and Mrs. 
Turner with her son, Philip Turner. Both of 
them, the }"oung Philip and the young Daniel, 
formed a part of the famous brotherhood of 
the thirty-four. They were old friends, Bettina 
had treated them as such, and had declared 
to them with perfect frankness that they were 
losing their time. However, they were not 
discouraged, and formed the center of a little 
court which was always very eager and assid- 
uous around Bettina. 

Paul de Lavardens had made his appearance 
on this scene, and had very rapidly become 
everybody’s friend. He had received the bril- 
liant and complicated education of a young 
man destined for pleasure. While it was a 
question only of amusement, riding, croquet, 
lawn tennis, polo, dancing, charades, and 
theatricals, he was ready for everything, he 
excelled in everything. His superiority was 
evident, unquestionable. Paul became in 
short time, by general consent, the director 
and organizer of the fetes at Longueval. 

Bettina had not a moment of hesitation. 
Jean introduced Paul de Lavardens, and the 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


123 


latter had scarcely concluded the customary 
little compliment when Miss Percival, leaning 
toward her sister, whispered in her ear: 

“The thirty-fifth!” 

However, she received Paul very kindly, so 
kindly that for several days he had the weak- 
ness to misunderstand her. Pie believed that 
it was his personal graces which had obtained 
for him this very flattering and cordial recep- 
tion. It was a great mistake. Paul de Lavar- 
dens had been introduced by Jean; he was 
Jean’s friend. In Bettina’s eyes therein lay 
all his merit. 

Mrs. Scott’s castle was open house; people 
were not invited for one evening only, but for 
every evening, and Paul, with enthusiasm, 
came every evening. His dream was at last 
realized; he had found Paris at Longueval. 

But Paul was neither blind nor a fool. No 
doubt he was, on Miss Percival’s part, the 
object of very particular attention and favor. 
It pleased her to talk long, very long, alone 
with him. But what was the eternal, the 
inexhaustible subject of their conversations? 
Jean, again Jean, and always Jean! 

Paul was thoughtless, dissipated, frivolous, 
but he became in earnest when Jean was in 
question; he knew how to appreciate him, he 
knew how to love him. Nothing to him was 
sweeter, nothing was easier, than to say of the 
friend of his childhood all the good that he 
thought of him; and as he saw that Bettina 
listened with great pleasure, Paul gave free 
rein to his eloquence. 


124 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Only Paul wished one evening — and he was 
quite right — to reap the benefit of his chival- 
rous conduct. He had just been talking for a 
quarter of an hour with Bettina. The conver- 
sation finished, he went to look for Jean at the 
other end of the drawing-room, and said to 
him : 

“You left the field open to me, and I have 
made a bold stroke for Miss Percival. ’’ 

“Well, you have no reason to be dissatisfied 
with the result of the enterprise. You are 
the best friends in the world.” 

“Yes, certainly, pretty well, but not quite 
satisfactory. There is no one more amiable 
or more charming than Miss Percival, and 
really it is very good of me to acknowledge it, 
for, between ourselves, she makes me play an 
ungrateful and ridiculous part, — a part which 
it quite unsuited to my age. I am, you will 
admit, of the lover’s age, and not of that of 
the confidant. ” 

“Of the confidant?” 

“Yes, my dear fellow, of the confidant! 
That is my occupation in this house. You 
were looking at us just now. Oh! I have 
very good eyes; you were looking at us. 
Well, do you know what we were talking 
about? Of you, my dear fellow, — of you, of 
nothing but you. And it is the same thing 
every evening; there is no end to the ques- 
tions. 

“ ‘You were brought up together? You took 
lessons together from the Abbe Constantin?’ 

“ ‘Will he soon be captain? And then?’ 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


125 


“ ‘Commandant.’ 

“ ‘And then?’ 

“ ‘Colonel, etc., etc., etc.’ 

“Ah! I can tell you, my friend Jean, if you 
liked, you might dream a very delicious 
dream. ” 

Jean was annoyed, almost angry. Paul was 
much astonished at this sudden attack of irriti- 
bility. 

“What is the matter? Have I said any- 
thing—” 

“I beg your pardon; I was wrong. But 
how could you take such an absurd idea into 
your head?” 

“Absurd! I don’t see it. I have entertained 
the absurd idea on my own account.” 

“Ah! you — ” 

“Why ‘Ah! me?’ If I have had it you may 
have it; you are more worthy of it than I am.” 

“Paul, I entreat you!” 

Jean’s discomfort was evident. 

“We will not speak of it again; we will not 
speak of it again. What I wanted to say, in 
short, is that Miss Percival thinks me very 
nice, very nice; but as to thinking of me 
seriously, that little person will never think 
of me seriously. I must fall back upon Mrs. 
Scott, but without much confidence. You 
see, Jean, I shall amuse myself in this house, 
but I shall make nothing out of it.” 

Paul de Lavardens did fall back upon Mrs. 
Scott, but the next day was surprised to stum- 
ble upon Jean, who had taken to placing him- 
self very regularly in Mrs. Scott’s particular 


126 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


circle, for like Bettina she had also her little 
court. But what Jean sought there was a pro- 
tection, a shelter, a refuge. 

The day of that memorable conversation on 
marriage without love, Bettina had also, for 
the first time felt suddenly awake in her that 
necessity of loving which sleeps, but not very 
profoundly, in the hearts of all young girls. 
The sensation had been the same, at the same 
moment, in Bettina’s soul and in Jean’s. He, 
terrified, had cast it violently from him. She, 
on the contrary, had yielded in all the sim- 
plicity of her perfect innocence to this flood of 
emotion and of tenderness. 

She had waited for love. Could this be love? 
The man who was to be her thought, her life, 
her soul — could this be he — this Jean? Why 
not? She knew him better than she knew all 
those who during the past year had haunted 
her for her fortune, and in what she knew of 
him there was nothing to discourage the love of 
a good girl. Far from it! 

Both of them did well ; both of them were 
in the way of duty and of truth, — she in yield- 
ing, he in resisting; she is not thinking for a 
moment of Jean’s obscurity, of his compara- 
tive poverty; he is recoiling before her moun- 
tain of wealth as he would have recoiled before 
a crime; she in thinking that she had no right 
to parley with love; he in thinking he had no 
right to parley with honor. 

This is why, in proportion as Bettina showed 
herself more tender, and abandoned herself 
with more frankness to the first call of love — 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


127 


this is why Jean became day by day more 
gloomy and more restless. He was not only 
afraid of loving; he was afraid of being loved. 

He ought to have remained away: he should 
not have come near her. He had tried: he 
could not; the temptation was too strong; it 
carried him away; so he came. She would 
come to him, her hands extended, a smile on 
her lips, and her heart in her eyes. Every- 
thing in her said: 

“Let us try to love each other, and if we can 
we will love ! ’ ’ 

Fear seized him. Those two hands which 
offered themselves to the pressure of his hands, 
he scarcely dared to touch. He tried to escape 
those eyes which, tender and smiling, anxious 
and curious, tried to meet his eyes. He trem- 
bled before the necessity of speaking to Bet- 
tina, before the necessity of listening to her. 

Then Jean took refuge with Mrs. Scott, and 
then Mrs. Scott caught those uncertain, agi- 
tated, troubled words which were not addressed 
to her, and which she took for herself never- 
theless. She could hardly have failed to be 
mistaken. 

For of these still vague and confused senti- 
ments which agitated her Bettina had as yet 
said nothing. She guarded and caressed the 
secret of her budding love as a miser guards 
and caresses the first coins of his treasure. 
The day when she should see clearly into her 
own heart, the day that she should be sure that 
she loved — ah! she would speak that day, and 
how happy she should be to tell all to Suzie ! 


128 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Mrs. Scott had ended by regarding herself as 
the cause of Jean’s melancholy, which day by 
day took a more marked character. She was 
flattered by it — a woman is never displeased at 
thinking herself beloved — she was flattered and 
vexed at the same time. She held Jean in 
great esteem, in great affection, but she was 
distressed at the thought that if he were sad 
and unhappy, it was because of her. 

Suzie was, besides, conscious of her own in- 
nocence. With others she had sometimes been 
coquettish, very coquettish. To torment them 
a little, was that such a great crime? They 
had nothh g to do, they were good-for-nothing, 
it occupied them while it amused her. It 
helped them to pass their time, and it helped 
her, too. But Suzie had not to reproach her- 
self for having flirted with Jean. She recog- 
nized his merit and his superiority; he was 
worth more than the others ; he was a man to 
suffer seriously, and that was what Mrs. Scott 
did not wish. Already two or three times she 
had been on the point of speaking to him very 
seriously, very affectionately, but she had re- 
flected Jean was going away for three weeks; 
on his return, if it were still necessary, she 
would read him a lecture, and would act in 
such a manner that love should not come fool- 
ishly to interfere in their friendship. 

So Jean was to go the next day. Bettina had 
insisted that he should spend this last day at 
Longueval, and dine at the chateau. Jean had 
refused, alleging that he had much to do the 
night before his departure. 



Bettina hastened to him.” — Page 129. 

The Abbe Constantin. 




THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


129 


He arrived in the evening, about half-past 
ten ; he came on foot. Several times on the 
way he had been inclined to return. 

“If I had courage enough,” he said to him- 
self, “I would not see her again. I shall leave 
to-morrow, and return no more to Souvigny 
while she is there. My resolution is taken, 
and taken forever.” 

But he continued on his way; he would see 
her again — for the last time. 

As soon as he entered the drawing-room, 
Bettina hastened to him. 

“Here you are at last! How late you are!” 

“I have been very busy.” 

“And you are going to-morrow?” 

“Yes, to-morrow.” 

“Early?” 

“At five in the morning.” 

“You will go by the road which runs by the 
park wall, and goes through the village?” 

“Yes, that is the way we shall go.” 

“Why so early in the morning? I would 
have gone out on the terrace to see you pass 
and to wish you good-bye. ’ ’ 

Bettina detained for a moment Jean’s burn- 
ing hand in hers. He drew it, mournfully 
away, with an effort. 

“I must go and speak to your sister,” said 
he. 

“Directly, . . . she has not seen you, . . . 
there are a dozen people round her. Come and 
sit here a little while, near me.” 

He was obliged to seat himself beside her. 

“We are going away, too,” said she. 

9 Abbe Constantin 


130 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“You are!” 

“Yes. An hour ago, we received a telegram 
trom my brother-in-lar, which has caused us 
great joy. We did not expect him for a month, 
but he is coming back in a fortnight. He will 
embark the day after to-morrow at New York, 
on board the Labrador. We are going to meet 
him at Havre. We shall also start the day 
after to-morrow. We are going to take the 
children; it will do them a great deal of good 
to spend a few days at the seaside. How 
pleased my brother-in-law will be to know you 
— do I say ‘know you?’ he knows you already; 
we have spoken of you in all our letters. I am 
sure you and Mr. Scott will get on extremely 
well together, he is so good. How long will 
you stay away?” 

“Three weeks. ” 

“Three weeks in a camp?” 

“Yes, Miss Percival, in the camp of Cercot- 
tes. ’ ’ 

“In the middle of the forest of Orleans. I 
made your godfather explain all about it to me 
this morning. Of course, I am delighted to 
go to meet my brother-in-law, but at the same 
time I am a little sorry to leave here, for I 
would have gone every morning to pay a little 
visit to Monsieur l’Abbe. He would have given 
me news of you. Perhaps, in about ten days, 
you will write to my sister — a little note of 
three or four lines — it will not take much of 
your time — just to tell her how you are, and 
that you do not forget us.” 

“Oh! as to forgetting you, as to losing the 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


131 


remembrance of your extreme kindness, your 
goodness, never, Miss Percival, never!” 

His voice trembled, he was afraid of his own 
emotion ; he rose. 

‘‘I assure you. Miss Percival, I must go and 
speak to your sister. She is looking at me. 
She must be astonished.” 

He crossed the room ; Bettina followed him 
with her eyes. 

Mrs. Norton had just placed herself at the 
piano to play a waltz for the young people. 

Paul de Lavardens approached Miss Percival. 

“Will you do me the honor. Miss Percival?” 

‘‘I believe I have just promised this dance to 
Monsieur Jean,” she replied. 

“Well, if not to him, will you give it to 
me?” 

“That is understood.” 

Bettina walked toward Jean, who had 
seated himself near Mrs. Scott. 

“I have just told a dreadful story,” said she. 
“Monsieur de Lavardens has asked me for this 
dance, and I replied that I had promised it to 
you. You would like it, wouldn’t you?” 

To hold her in his arms, to breathe the per- 
fume of her hair — Jean felt his courage could 
not support this ordeal, he dared not accept. 

“I regret extremely I cannot. I am not 
well to-night. I persisted in coming because 
I would not leave without wishing you good- 
bye; but dance! no, it is impossible!” 

Mrs. Norton began the prelude of the waltz. 

“Well,” said Paul, coming up quite joyful, 
“who is it to be, he or I?” 


132 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“You,” she said sadly, without removing 
her eyes from Jean. 

She was much disturbed, and replied with- 
out knowing well what she said. She imme- 
diately regretted having accepted; she would 
have liked to stay there, near him. But it was 
too late, Paul took her hand and led her away. 

Jean rose; he looked at the two, Bettina and 
Paul. A haze floated before his eyes, he 
suffered cruelly. 

“There is only one thing I can do, ” thought 
he — “profit by this waltz, and go. To-morrow 
I will write a few lines to Mrs. Scott to excuse 
myself. ’’ 

He reached the door, he looked no more at 
Bettina; had he looked, he would have stayed. 

But Bettina looked at him ; and all at once 
she said to Paul: 

“Thank you very much, but I am a little 
tired; let us stop, please. You will excuse me, 
will you not?” 

Paul offered his arm. 

“No, thank you,” said she. 

The door was just closing, Jean was no 
longer there. Bettina ran across the room. 
Paul remained alone much surprised, under- 
standing nothing of what had passed. 

Jean was already at the hall door, when he 
heard some one call: “Monsieur Jean! Mon- 
sieur Jean!” 

He stopped and turned. She was near him. 

“You are going without wishing me good- 
bye?” 

“I beg your pardon, I am very tired.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


133 


‘‘Then you must not walk home, the weather 
is threatening” — she put her hand out of 
doors — “it is raining already/’ 

“Oh, not much.” 

“Come and have a cup of tea with me in the 
little drawing-room, and I will tell them to 
drive you home;” and turning toward one 
of the footmen, “Have them send a carriage 
round directly.” 

“No, Miss Percival, pray, the open air will 
revive me. I must walk ; let me go. ” 

“Go, then, but you have no great-coat; take 
something to wrap yourself in.” 

“I shall not be cold — while you with that 
open dress. I shall go, to oblige you to go 
in.” And without even offering his hand, he 
ran quickly down the steps. 

“If I touched her hand,” he thought, “I am 
lost; my secret will escape me.” 

His secret! He did not know that Bettina 
read his heart like an open book. 

When Jean had descended the steps, he hesi- 
tated one short moment; these words were 
upon his lips: 

“I love you, I adore you, and that is why I 
will see you no more!” 

But he did not utter these words, he fled 
away and was soon lost in the darkness. 

Bettina remained there against the brilliant 
background made by the light from the hall. 
Great drops of rain driven by the wind swept 
across her bare shoulders, and made her 
shiver; she took no notice, she distinctly heard 
her heart beat. 


134 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“I knew very well that he loved me, ” she 
thought, “but now I am very sure that I, too 
— oh! yes! I, too! — ” 

All at once in one of the great mirrors in the 
hall door she saw the reflection of the two 
footmen who stood there motionless, near the 
oak table in the hall. She took several steps 
toward the drawing-room. She heard bursts 
of laughter and the strains of the waltz ; she 
stopped. She wished to be alone, completely 
alone, and addressing one of the servants, she 
said: 

“Go and tell your mistress that I am very 
tired, and have gone to my own room.” 

Annie, her maid, had fallen asleep in an 
easy-chair. She sent her away. She would 
undress herself. She let herself sink in a 
couch; she was oppressed with delicious emo- 
tion. 

The door of her room opened; it was Mrs. 
Scott. 

“You are not well, Bettina?” 

“Oh! Suzie, is it you, my Suzie? how nice of 
you to come. Sit here, close to me, quite close 
to me. ” 

She hid herself like a child in her sister’s 
arms, caressing with her burning brow Suzie ’s 
fresh shoulders. Then she suddenly burst into 
sobs, great sobs, which stifled, suffocated her. 

“Bettina, my darling, what is the matter?” 

“Nothing, nothing! It is my nerves ... it 
is joy— joy!” 

“Joy?” 

“Yes, yes, wait — let me cry a little, it will 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


135 


do me so much good. But do not be fright- 
ened, do not be frightened.” 

Beneath her sister’s caress, Bettina grew 
calm, soothed. 

“It is over. I am better now, and I can talk 
to you. It is about Jean. ” 

“Jean! You call him Jean?” 

“Yes, I call him Jean. Have you, not 
noticed for some time that he was dull and 
looked quite melancholy?” 

“Yes, I have.” 

“Whenever he came, he would go and post 
himself near you, and stay there, silent, ab- 
sorbed, to such a degree, that for several days 
I asked myself — pardon me for speaking to you 
with such frankness, it is my way, you know — 
I asked myself if it were not you whom he 
loved, Suzie; you are so charming, it would 
have been so natural. But, no, it was not you, 
it was I ! ” 

“You!” 

“Yes, I. Listen, he scarcely dared to look 
at me, he avoided me, he fled from me, he was 
afraid of me, evidently afraid. Now, in jus- 
tice, am I a person to inspire fear? I am sure 
I am not!” 

“Certainly not!” 

“Ah! it was not I of whom he was afraid, it 
was my money, my horrid money ! This money 
which attracts all the others and tempts them 
so much, this money terrifies him, drives him 
desperate because he is not like the others, 
because he — ” 


136 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“My child, take care, perhaps you are mis- 
taken.” 

'“Oh! no, I am not mistaken. Just now, at 
the door, when he was going away, he said 
some words to me. These words were noth- 
ing. But if you had seen his distress in spite 
of all his efforts to control it! Suzie, dear 
Suzie, by the affection which I bear you, and 
God knows how great is that affection, this is 
my conviction, my absolute conviction — if in- 
stead of being Miss Percival I had been a poor 
young girl without a penny, Jean would then 
have taken my hand, and have told me that he 
loved me; and if he had spoken to me thus, 
do you know what I should have replied?” 

“That you loved him, too?” 

“Yes, and that is why I am so happy. 
With me it is a fixed idea that I must adore 
the man who will be my husband. Well, I 
don’t say that I adore Jean, no, not yet, but 
still it is beginning, Suzie, and it is beginning 
so sweetly!” 

“Bettina, it really makes me uneasy to see 
you in this state of excitement. I do not deny 
that Monsieur Reynaud is much attached to 
you — ” 

“Oh! more than that, more than that!” 

“Loves you, if you like; yes, you are right, 
you are quite right. He loves you ; and are 
you not worthy, my darling, of all the love 
that one can bear you? As to Jean— it is pro- 
gressing decidedly ; here am I also calling him 
Jean — well, you know what I think of him. I 
rank him very, very high. But in spite of 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


137 


that, is he really a suitable husband for 
you?” 

“Yes, if I love him.” 

‘‘I am trying to talk sensibly to you, and 
you, on the contrary — Understand me, Bet- 
tina; I have an experience of the world which 
you cannot have. Since our arrival in Paris 
we have been launched into a very brilliant, 
very animated, very aristocratic society. You 
might have been already, if you had liked, a 
marchioness or a princess.” 

“Yes, but I did not like.” 

“It would not matter to you to be called 
Madame Reynaud?” 

“Not in the least, if I love him.” 

“Ah! you return always to — ” 

“Because that is the true question. There is 
no other. Now I will be sensible in my turn. 
This question — I grant that this is not quite 
settled, and that I have, perhaps, allowed my- 
self to be too easily persuaded. You see how 
sensible I am. Jean is going away to-mor- 
row. I shall not see him again for three 
weeks. During these three weeks I shall have 
ample time to question myself, to examine 
myself, in a word, to know my own mind. 
Under my giddy manner, I am serious and 
thoughtful, you know that?” 

“Oh! yes, I know it.” 

“Well, I will make this petition to you, as 
I would have addressed it to our mother had 
she been here. If in three weeks I say to you, 
‘Suzie, I am certain that I love him,' you will 
allow me to go to him myself, quite alone, and 


138 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


ask him if he will have me for his wife? That 
is what you did with Richard. Tell me, Suzie, 
will you allow me?'’ 

“Yes, I will allow you.” 

Bettina embraced her sister, and murmured 
these words in her ear: 

“Thank you, mamma.” 

“Mamma, mamma! So you used to call me 
when you were a child; when we were alone 
in the world together; when I used to undress 
you in our poor room in New York; when I 
held you in my arms; when I laid you in your 
little bed; when I sang you to sleep. And 
since then, Bettina, I have had only one desire 
in the world, — your happiness. That is why I 
beg } T ou to reflect well. Do not answer me; 
do not let us talk any more of that. I wish to 
leave you very calm, very tranquil. You have 
sent away Annie, would you like me to be your 
little mamma again to-night, to undress you, 
and put you to bed as I used to do?” 

“Yes, I should like it very much. ” 

“And when you are in bed, you promise me 
to be very good?” 

“As good as an angel.” 

“You will do your best to go to sleep?” 

“My very best. ” 

“Very quietly, without thinking of any- 
thing?” 

“Very quietly, without thinking of any- 
thing.” 

“Very well, then. ” 

Ten minutes later, Bettina’s pretty head 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


139 


rested gently amidst embroideries and lace. 
Suzie said to her sister: 

“I am going down to those people, who bore 
me dreadfully this evening. Before going to 
my own room, I shall come back and see if 
you are asleep. Do not speak. Go to sleep.” 

She went away. Bettina remained alone; 
she tried to keep her word; she endeavored 
to go to sleep, but only half succeeded. She 
fell into a half-slumber, which left her floating 
between dream and reality. She had prom- 
ised to think of nothing, and yet she thought 
of him, always of him, of nothing but him, 
vaguely, confusedly. 

How long a time passed thus she could not 
tell. 

All at once it seemed to her that some one 
was walking in her room ; she half-opened 
her eyes, and thought she recognized her sister. 

In a very sleepy voice she said to her: 

‘‘You know I love him.” 

“Hush! Go to sleep.” 

“I am asleep! I am asleep!” 

At last she really fell asleep, but slept less 
profoundly than usual, for about four o’clock 
in the morning she was suddenly awakened by 
a noise, which the night before would not have 
disturbed her slumber. The rain was falling 
in torrents, and beating against her window. 

“Oh, it is raining!” she thought; “he will 
get wet!” 

That was her first thought. She rose, 
crossed the room barefooted, half-opened the 
shutters. The day had broke, gray and lower- 


140 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


ing; the clouds were heavy with rain, the wind 
blew tempestuously, and drove the rain in 
gusts before it. 

Bettina did not go back to bed, she felt it 
would be quite impossible to sleep again. She 
put on a dressing-gown, and remained at the 
window; she watched the falling rain. Since 
he positively must go, she would have liked 
the weather to be fine ; she would have liked 
bright sunshine to cheer his first day's march. 

When she came to Longueval a month ago, 
Bettina did not know what une etape or day’s 
march meant. But she knew now. A day’s 
march for the artillery is twenty or thirty 
miles, with an hour’s halt for luncheon. The 
Abbe Constantin had taught her that ; when 
going their rounds in the morning among the 
poor, Bettina overwhelmed the Cure with 
questions about military affairs, and particu- 
larly about the artillery service. 

Twenty or thirty miles under this pouring 
rain! Poor Jean! Bettina thought of young 
Turner, young Norton, of Paul de Lavardens, 
who would sleep calmly till ten in the morn- 
ing, while Jean was exposed to this deluge. 

Paul de Lavardens! 

This name awoke in her a painful memory, 
the memory of that waltz the evening before. 
To have danced like that, while Jean was so 
obviously in distress! That waltz took the 
proportions of a crime in her eyes; it was a 
horrible thing that she had done. 

And then, had she not been wanting in cour- 
age and frankness in that last interview with 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


141 


Jean? He neither could nor dared say any- 
thing; but she might have shown more tender- 
ness, more expansiveness. Sad and suffering 
as he was, she should never have allowed him 
to go back on foot. She ought to have de- 
tained him at any price. Her imagination 
tormented and excited her; Jean must have 
carried away with him the impression that she 
was a bad little creature, heartless and pitiless. 
And in half an hour he was going away, — 
away for three weeks. Ah ! if she could by 
any means — but there is a way ! The regiment 
is to pass along by the park wall below the 
terrace. Bettina was seized with a wild desire 
to see Jean pass; he would understand well, 
if he saw her at such an hour, that she had 
come to beg his pardon for her cruelty of the 
previous evening. Yes, she would go! But 
she had promised Suzie that she would be as 
good as an angel, and to do what she was 
going to do, was that being as good as an 
angel? She would make up for it by acknowl- 
edging all to Suzie when she came in again, 
and Suzie would forgive her. 

She would go! She had made up her mind. 
Only how should she dress? She had nothing 
at hand but a ball dress, a muslin dressing- 
gown, little high-heeled slippers, and blue 
satin shoes. She might wake her maid. Oh! 
never would she dare to do that, and time 
pressing; a quarter to five! the regiment 
could start at five o’clock. 

She might, perhaps, manage with the mus- 
lin dressing-gown and the satin slippers; in 


142 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


the halls she might find her hat, her little- 
boots which she wore in the garden, and the 
large tartan cloak for driving in wet weather. 
She half opened her door with infinite pre- 
cautions. Everything was asleep in the 
house: she crept along the corridor, she de- 
scended the staircase. 

If only the little boots are there in their 
place ; that is her great anxiety. There they 
are! She slips them on over her satin shoes, 
she wraps herself in the great mantle. 

She hears that the rain has redoubled in vio- 
lence. She notices one of those large umbrel- 
las which the footmen use on the box in wet. 
weather; she seizes it; she is ready; but when 
she is ready to go she sees that the hall door 
is fastened by a great iron ba*r. She tries to 
raise it; but the bolt holds fast, resists all her 
efforts, and the great clock in the hall slowly 
strikes five. He is starting at that moment. 

She will see him! she will see him! Her 
will is excited by these obstacles. She makes 
a great effort; the bar yields, slips back in the 
groove. But Bettina has made a long scratch 
on her hand, from which issues a slender* 
stream of blood. Bettina twists her handker- 
chief round her hand, takes her great umbrella, 
turns the key in the lock, and opens the door... 

At last she is out of the house ! 

The weather is frightful. The wind and the 
rain rage together. It takes five or six min- 
utes to reach the terrace which looks over the 
road. Bettina darts forward courageously ~ 
her head bent, hidden under her immense urn- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


143 


brella. She has already taken a few steps 
'when all at once, furious, mad, blinding, a 
squall bursts upon Bettina, blows open her 
mantle, drives her along, lifts her almost from 
the ground, turns the umbrella violently in- 
side out ; that is nothing, the disaster is not 
yet complete. 

Bettina has lost one of her little boots; they 
were not practical sabots, they were only 
pretty little things for fine weather; and at 
this moment, when Bettina is desperately 
struggling against the tempest with her blue 
satin shoe half buried in the wet gravel, at this 
moment the wind bears to her the distant echo 
of a trumpet-call. It is the regiment starting. 

Bettina makes a desperate effort, abandons 
her umbrella, finds her little boot, fastens it on 
as well as she can, and starts off running with 
a deluge descending on her head. 

At last she is in the wood; the trees protect 
her a little. Another call, nearer this time 
Bettina fancies she hears the rolling of the 
gun-carriages. She makes a last effort ; here 
is the terrace, she is there just in time. 

Twenty yards off she perceived the white 
horses of the trumpeters, and along the road 
•she caught glimpses of the long line of guns 
and wagons vaguely rolling through the fog. 

She sheltered herself under one of the old 
limes which bordered the terrace. She watched, 
she waited. He is there among that confused 
mass of riders. Will she be able to recognize 
him? And he, will he see her? Will any 
chance make him turn his head that way? 


144 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Bettina knows that he is lieutenant in the 
second battery of his regiment; she knows 
that a battery is composed of six guns and six 
ammunition wagons. Of course the Abbe 
Constantin taught her that. Thus she must 
allow the first battery to pass, that is to say, 
count six guns, six wagons, and then — he will 
be there. 

There he is at last, wrapped in his great 
cloak, and it is he who sees, who recognizes 
her first. A few moments before he had been 
recalling to his mind a long walk which he had 
taken with her one evening on that terrace, 
when night was falling. He raised his eyes, 
and the very spot where he remembered hav- 
ing seen her, was the spot where he found her 
again. He bowed, and, bareheaded in the 
rain, turning round in his saddle, as long as he 
could see her he looked at her. He said again 
to himself what he had said the previous eve- 
ning: 

“It is for the last time.” 

With a charming gesture of both hands she 
returned his farewell, and this gesture, re- 
peated many times, brought her hands so near, 
so near her lips, that one might have fancied — 

“Ah!” she thought, “if after that he does 
not understand that I love him, and does not 
forgive me my money.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


145 


CHAPTER IX. 

It is the tenth of August, the day which is 
to bring Jean back to Longueval. 

Bettina wakes very early, rises, and runs 
immediately to the window. The evening be- 
fore the sky had looked threatening, heavy with 
clouds. Bettina slept but little, and all night 
prayed that it might not rain the next day. 

In the early morning a dense fog envelops 
the park of Longueval, the trees of which are 
hidden from view as by a curtain. But gradu- 
ally the rays of the sun dissipate the mist, the 
trees become vaguely discernible through the 
vapor; then, suddenly, the sun shines out bril- 
liantly, flooding with light the park, and the 
fields beyond; and the lake where the black 
swans are disporting themselves in the radiant 
light, appears as bright as a sheet of polished 
metal. 

The weather is going to be beautiful. Bet- 
tina is a little superstitious. The sunshine 
gives her good hope and good courage. “The 
day begins well, so it will finish well.” 

Mr. Scott has come some days before. 
Suzie, Bettina, and the children were waiting 
on the quay at Havre, for the arrival of his 
steamer. 

They exchanged many tender embraces, then 

10 Abbe Constantin 


146 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Richard, addressing his sister-in-law, says 
laughingly : 

“Well, when is the wedding to be?” 

“What wedding?" 

“Yours.” 

“My wedding?” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“And to whom am I going to be married?” 

“To Monsieur Jean Reynaud. ” 

“Ah! Suzie has written to you?” 

“Suzie? Not at all. Suzie has not said a 
word. It was you, Bettina, who wrote to me. 
For the last two months, all your letters have 
been occupied with this young officer.” 

“All my letters?” 

“Yes; and you have written to me oftener 
and more at length than usual. I do not com- 
plain of that, but I do ask when you are going 
to present me with a brother-in-law. ” 

He speaks jestingly, but Bettina replies: 

“Soon, I hope.” 

Mr. Scott perceives that the affair is serious. 
When returning in the carriage, Bettina asks 
Mr. Scott if he has kept her letters. 

“Certainly,” he replies. 

She reads them again. It is indeed only 
with “Jean” that all these letters have been. 
She finds therein related, down to the most 
trifling details, their first meeting. There is 
the portrait of Jean in the vicarage garden, 
with his straw hat and his earthenware salad- 
dish — and then it is again Monsieur Jean, 
always Monsieur Jean. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


147 


She discovers that she has loved him much 
longer than she had suspected. 

Now it is the tenth of August. Luncheon is 
just over, and Harry and Bella are impatient. 

They know that between one and two o’clock 
the regiment must go through the village. 
They have been promised that they shall be 
taken to see the soldiers pass, and for them 
as well as for Bettina the return of the 9th 
Artillery is a great event. 

“Aunt Betty,” said Bella, — “Aunt Betty, 
come with us. ’ ’ 

“Yes, do come,” said Harry, — “do come; 
we shall see our friend Jean on his big gray 
horse. ” 

Bettina resists, refuses — and yet how great 
is the temptation ! 

But no, she will not go, she will not see Jean 
again till evening, when she will give him 
that decisive explanation for which she has 
been preparing herself for the last three 
weeks. 

The children hasten away with their govern- 
esses. Bettina, Suzie, and Richard go and sit 
in the park, quite close to the castle, and as 
soon as they are established there — 

“Suzie,” says Bettina, “lam going to re- 
mind you to-day of your promise; you remem- 
ber what passed between us the night of his 
departure; we settled that if on the day of his 
return I could say to you, ‘Suzie, I am sure 
that I love him,’ — we settled that you would 
allow me to speak frankly to him, and ask him 
if he would have me for his wife.” 


148 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Yes, I did promise you. But are you very 
sure?” 

“Absolutely — and now the time has come to 
redeem your promise. I warn you that I in- 
tend to bring him to this very place” — she 
added, smiling, “to this seat; and to use 
almost the same language to him that you for- 
merly used to Richard. You were successful, 
Suzie, you are perfectly happy, and I — that is 
what I wish to be.” * 

“Richard, Suzie has told you about Mon- 
sieur Reynaud?” 

“Yes, and she has told me that there is no 
man of whom she has a higher opinion, but — ” 

“But she has told you that for me it would 
be a rather quiet, rather commonplace mar- 
riage. 

Oh, naughty sister! Will you believe it, 
Richard, that I cannot get this fear out of her 
head? She does not understand that before 
everything I wish to love and be loved; will 
you believe it, Richard, that only last week 
she laid a horrible trap for me? You know 
that there exists a certain Prince Romanelli?” 

“Yes, I know you might have been a prin- 
cess.” 

“That would not have been immensely diffi- 
cult, I believe. Well, one day I was so foolish 
as to say to Suzie, that, in extremity, I might 
accept the Prince Romanelli. Now, just im- 
agine what she did? The Turners were at 
Trouville. Suzie arranged a little plot. We 
lunched with the Prince, but the result was 
disastrous. Accept him ! The two hours that I 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


149 


passed with him I passed in asking myself how 
I could have said such a thing. No, Richard; 
no, Suzie; I will be neither princess, nor 
marchioness, nor countess. My wish is to be 
Madame Jean Reynaud; if, however, M. Jean 
Reynaud will agree to it, and that is by no 
means certain. ” 

The regiment is entering the village, and 
suddenly a burst of music, martial and joyous, 
sweeps across the space. All three remain 
silent; it is the regiment; it was Jean passing, 
the sound becomes fainter, dies away, and 
Bettina continues: 

“No, that is not certain. He loves me, how- 
ever, and much, but without knowing well 
what I am; I think that I deserve to be loved 
differently; I think that I should not cause him 
so much terror, so much fear, if he knew me 
better and that is why I ask you to permit me 
to speak to him this evening freely from my 
heart. ” 

“We will allow you,” replied Richard; “you 
shall speak to him freely, for we know, both 
of us, Bettina, that you will never do anything 
but what is noble and generous.” 

“At least I will try.” 

The children run up to them, they have 
seen Jean, he was quite white with dust, he 
said good-morning to them. 

“Only,” adds Bella, “he is not very nice, he 
did not stop to talk to us. Generally he stops, 
and this time he wouldn’t.” 

“Yes, he would,” replies Harry; “for at first 


150 


THE ABDE CONSTANTIN. 


he seemed as if he were going to — and them 
he would not. He went away.” 

‘‘Well, he didn’t stop, and it is so nice tO' 
talk to a soldier, especially when he is on 
horseback. ” 

‘‘It is not that only, but we are very fond of 
Monsieur Jean; if you knew, papa, how kind 
he is, and how nicely he plays with us.” 

“And what beautiful drawings he makes. 
Harry, you remember that great Punch wha 
was so funny, with his stick, you know.” 

‘‘And the cat, there was the little cat too, as 
in the show.” 

The two children go away talking of their 
friend Jean. 

“Decidedly,” says Mr. Scott, “every one 
likes him in this house.” 

“And you will be like every one else when 
you know him,” replies Bettina. 

The regiment broke into a trot along the 
high road, after leaving- the village. There is 
the terrace where Bettina had been the other 
morning. Jean says to himself: 

“Supposing- she should be there.” 

He dreads and hopes it at the same time. 
He raises his head, he looks, she is not there. 
He has not seen her again, he will not see 
her again, for a long time at least. He will 
start that very evening at six o’clock for Paris; 
one of the head men in the War Office is inter- 
ested in him; he will try to get exchanged into 
another regiment. 

Alone at Cercottes, Jean has had time to 
reflect deeply, and this is the result of his 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


151 


reflections. He cannot, he must not, be Bet- 
tina Percival’s husband. 

The men dismount at the barracks, Jean 
takes leave of his colonel, his comrades; all is 
over. He is free, he can go. 

But he does not go yet ; he looks around him. 

. . . How happy he was three months ago, 
when he rode out of that great yard amidst the 
noise of the cannon rolling over the pavement 
of Souvigny, but how sadly he would ride 
away to-day! Formerly his life was there; 
where would it be now? 

He goes home, he goes up to his own room, 
he writes to Mrs. Scott; he tells her that his 
duties oblige him to leave immediately; he 
cannot dine at the castle, and begs Mrs. Scott 
to remember him to Miss Bettina. Bettina, 
ah ! what trouble it cost him to write that name ; 
he closes his letter; he will send it directly. 

He makes his preparations for departure; 
then he will go to wish his godfather farewell. 
That is what costs him most; he will only 
speak to him of a short absence. 

Fie opens one of the drawers of his bureau to 
take out some money. The first thing that 
meets his eyes is a little note on bluish paper, 
it is the only note which he has ever received 
from her. 

“Will you have the kindness to give to the 
servant the book of which you spoke yesterday 
evening? Perhaps it will be a little heavy for 
me, but yet I should like to try to read it. We 
shall see you to-night; come as early as pos- 
sible ” It is signed “Bettina.” 


152 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Jean reads and re-reads these few lines, but 
soon he can read them no longer, his eyes are 
dim. 

“It is all that is left me of her,” he thinks. 

At the same moment the Abbe Constantin 
is holding conference with old Pauline; they 
are making up their accounts. The financial 
situation is admirable; more than two thou- 
and francs in hand! And the wishes of Suzie 
sand Bettina are accomplished; there are no 
more poor in the neighborhood. His old serv- 
ant, Pauline, has even occasional scruples of 
conscience. 

“You see, Monsieur le Cure,” says she, “per- 
haps we give them a little too much. Then it 
will be spread about in other parishes that here 
they can always find charity. And do you 
know what will happen one of these days? 
Poor people will come and settle at Longue- 
val.” 

The Cure gives fifty francs to Pauline. She 
goes off to take them to a poor man who had 
broken his arm a few days before by falling 
from the top of a hay-cart. 

The Abbe Constantin remains alone in the 
Vicarage. He is rather anxious. He has 
watched for the passing of the regiment ; but 
Jean only stopped for a moment ; he looked sad. 
For some time the Abbe had noticed that Jean 
had no longer the flow of good humor and gay- 
ety he once possessed. 

The Cure had not disturbed himself too 
much about it, believing it to be one of those 
little youthful troubles which did not concern 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


153 


a poor old priest. But on this occasion Jean’s 
disturbance was very perceptible. 

“I will come back directly,” he said to the 
Cure. “I want to speak to you.” 

He turned abruptly away. The Abbe Con- 
stantin had not even had time to give Loulou 
his piece of sugar, or rather his pieces of sugar, 
for he had put five or six in his pocket, considr 
ering that Loulou had well deserved this feast 
by ten long days’ march, and a score of nights 
passed under the open sky. 

Besides, since Mrs. Scott had lived at Lon- 
gueval, Loulou had very often had several pie@es 
of sugar; the Abbe Constantin had become 
extravagant, prodigal ; he felt himself a mil- 
lionaire; the sugar for Loulou was one of his 
follies. One day even he had been on the 
point of addressing to Loulou his everlasting 
little speech: 

‘‘This comes from the new mistresses of 
Longueval; pray for them to-night.” 

It was three o’clock when Jean arrived at 
the vicarage, and the Cure said immediately: 

“You told me that you wanted to speak to 
me; what is it about?” 

“About something, my dear godfather, 
which will surprise you, will grieve you — ” 

“Grieve me!” 

“Yes, and which grieves me too — I have 
come to bid you farewell. ” 

“Farewell! You are going away?” 

‘‘Yes, I am going away. ” 

“When?” 

“To-day, in two hours/’ 


1-54 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Iq two hours? But, my dear boy, we were 
going to dine at the castle to-night.” 

“I have just written to Mrs. Scott to excuse 
me. I am positively obliged to go.” 

“Directly?” 

“Directly. ” 

“And where are you going?” 

“To Paris.” 

“To Paris! Why this sudden determina- 
tion?” 

“Not so very sudden. I have thought about 
it for a long time.” 

“And you have said nothing about it to me! 
Jean, something has happened. You are a 
man, and I have no longer the right to treat 
you as a child ; but you know how much I love 
you ; if you have vexations, troubles, why not 
tell them to me? I could perhaps advise you. 
Jean, why go to Paris?” 

“*1 did not wish to tell you; it will give you 
pain; but you have the right to know. I am 
going to Paris to ask to be exchanged into 
another regiment.” 

“Into another regiment! To leave Sou- 
vigny !” 

“Yes, that is just it. I must leave Souvigny 
for a short time, for a little while only; but to 
leave Souvigny is necessary; it is what I wish 
above all things.” 

“And what about me, Jean; do you not 
think of me? A little while! A little while,! 
But that is all that remains to me of life, — a 
little while. And during these last days that I 
owe to the grace of God, it was my happiness, 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


155 


yes, Jean, m y happiness, to feel you here, near 
me, and now you are going away! Jean, wait 
a little patiently, it cannot be for very long 
now Wait until the good God has called me 
to Himself; wait till I shall be gone, to meet 
there, at His side, your father and your mother. 
Do not go, Jean, do not go!” 

“If you love me, I love you too, and you 
know it well. ” 

“Yes, I know it. ” 

‘‘I have just the same affection for you now 
that I had when I was quite little, when you 
took me to yourself, when you brought me up. 
My heart has not changed, will never change. 
But if duty — if honor — oblige me to go?” 

‘‘Ah! if it is duty, if it is honor, I say noth- 
ing more, Jean; that stands before all! — all! — 
all! I have always known you a good judge 
of your duty, your honor. Go, my boy, go ; I 
ask you nothing more, I wish to know no 
more. ” 

‘‘But I wish to tell you all,” cried Jean, van- 
quished by his emotion, ‘‘and it is better that 
you should know all. You will stay here, you 
will return to the castle, you will see her again 
—her!” 

“See her! Who?” 

“Bettina!” 

“Bettina?” 

“I adore her, I adore her!” 

“Oh, my poor boy!” 

“Pardon me for speaking to you of these 
things; but I tell you as I would have told my 
father. And then, I have not been able to 


156 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


speak of it to any one, and it stifled me; yes, it 
is a madness which has seized me, which has 
grown upon me little by little against my will, 
for you know very well — My God! It was 
here that I began to love her. You know, 
when she came here with her sister — the little 
rouleaux of a thousand francs — her hair fell 
down — and then the evening, the month of 
'Mary. Then I was permitted to see her freely, 
familiarly, and you yourself spoke to me con- 
stantly of her. You praised her sweetness, 
her goodness. How often have you told me 
that there was no one in the world better than 
she is!” 

“And I thought so, and I think so still. 
And no one here knows her better than I do, 
for I alone have seen her with the poor. If 
you only knew how tender and how good she 
is! Neither wretchedness nor suffering are 
repulsive to her. But, my dear boy, I am 
wrong to tell you all this.” 

“No, no, I shall see no more, but I like to 
hear you speak of her.” 

“In your whole life, Jean, you will never 
meet a better woman, nor one who has more 
elevated sentiments. To such a point, that 
one day — she had taken me with her in an open 
carriage, full of toys — she was taking these toys 
to a poor little sick girl, and when she gave 
them To her, to make the poor little thing 
laugh, to amuse her, she talked so prettily to 
her that I thought of you, and I said to myself, 
I remember it now, *Ah, if she were poor!’ ” 

“Ah, if she were poor! but she is not.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


157 


“Oh, no! But what can you do, my poor 
boy? If it gives you pain to see her, to live 
near her, above all, if it will prevent you suf- 
fering — go away, go — and yet, and yet — ” 

The old priest became thoughtful, let his 
head fall between his hands, and remained 
silent for some moments; then he continued: 

“And yet, Jean, do you know what I think? 
I have seen a great deal of Mademoiselle Bet- 
tina since she came to Longueval. Well — 
when I reflect — it did not astonish me then that 
any one should be interested in you, for it 
seemed so natural — but she talked always, yes, 
always of you. ’ * 

“Of me?” 

“Yes, of you, and of your father and mother; 
she was curious to know how you lived. She 
begged me to explain to her what a soldier’s 
life was, the life of a true soldier who 
loved his profession, and performed his duties 
conscientiously. ... It is extraordinary, since 
you have told me this, recollections crowd 
upon me, a thousand little things collect and 
group themselves together. . . . She returned 
from Havre day before yesterday at three 
o’clock. Well, an hour after her arrival she 
was here. And it was of you of whom she 
spoke directly. She asked if you had written 
to me, if you had not been ill, when you would 
arrive, at what hour, if the regiment would 
pass through the village.” 

“It is useless at this moment, my dear god- 
father,” said Jean, “to recall all these mem- 
ories. ’ ’ 


158 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“No, it is not useless. . . . She seemed so 
pleased, so happy even, at the thought of see- 
ing you again ! She would make quite a fete of 
the dinner this evening. She would introduce 
you to her brother-in-law, who has come back. 
There is no one else at the chateau at this 
moment, not a single visitor. She insisted 
strongly on this point, and I remember her 
last words — she was there, on the threshold of 
the door — 

“ ‘There will only be five of us,’ she said, 
‘you and Monsieur Jean, my sister, my brother- 
in-law, and myself. ’ 

“And then she added, laughing, ‘Quite a 
family party. ’ ’’ 

“With these words she went, she almost ran 
away. Quite a family party! Do you know 
what I think, Jean? Do you know?” 

“You must not think that, you must not.” 

“Jean, I believe that she loves you!’’ 

“And I believe it too.’’ 

“You too!’’ 

“When I left her, three weeks ago, she was 
so agitated, so moved! She saw me sad and 
unhappy, she would not let me go. It was at 
the door of the chateau. I was obliged to tear 
myself, yes, literally tear myself, away. I 
should have spoken, burst out, told her all. 
After having gone a few steps I stopped and 
turned. She could no longer see me, I was 
lost in the darkness; but I could see her. She 
stood there motionless, her shoulders and arms 
bare, in the rain, her eyes fixed on the way by 
which I had gone. Perhaps I am mad to think 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


159 


that. Perhaps it was only a feeling of pity. 
But no, it was something more than pity, for 
do you know what she did the next morning? 
She came at five o’clock in the most frightful 
weather to see me pass with the regiment — and 
then — the way she bade me adieu — oh, my 
friend, my dear old friend!” 

“But then,” said the poor Cure, completely 
bewildered, completely at a loss, “but then I 
do not understand you at all. If you love her, 
Jean, and if she loves you.** 

“But that is, above all, the reason why I 
must go. If it were only me, if I were certain 
that she had not perceived my love, certain 
that she had not been touched by it, I would 
stay, I would stay — for nothing but for the 
sweet joy of seeing her; and I would love her 
from afar, without any hope, for nothing but 
the happiness of loving her. But no, she has 
understood too well, and far from discouraging 
me — that is what forces me to go.” 

“No, I do not understand it! I know well, 
my poor boy, we are speaking of things in 
which I am no great scholar, but you are both 
good, young, and charming; you love her, she 
would love you, and you will not!” 

“And her money! her money!” 

“What matters her money. If it is only 
that, is it because of her money that you have 
loved her? It is rather in spite of her money. 
Your conscience, my son, would be quite at 
peace with regard to that, and that would 
suffice.” 

“No, that would not suffice. To have a 


160 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


good opinion of one’s self is not enough; that 
opinion must be shared by others.” 

“Oh, Jean! Among all who know you, who 
can doubt you?” 

“Who knows? And then there is another 
thing besides this question of money, another 
thing more serious and more grave. I am not 
the husband suited to her. ’ ’ 

“And who could be more worthy than you?” 

“The question to be considered is not my 
worth ; we have to consider what she is and 
what I am, to ask what ought to be her life 
and what ought to by my life. . . . One day, 
Paul — you know he has rather a blunt way of 
saying things, but that very bluntness often 
places thoughts much more clearly before us — 
we were speaking of her; Paul did not suspect 
anything; if he had, he is good-natured, he 
would not have spoken thus — well, he said to 
me: 

“ ‘What she needs is a husband who would 
be entirely devoted to her, to her alone ; a hus- 
band who would have no other care than to 
make her existence a perpetual holiday; a hus- 
band who would give himself, his whole life, in 
return for her money. ’ 

“You know me; such a husband I cannot, I 
must not be. I am a soldier, and will remain 
one. If the chances of my career sent me some 
day to a garrison in the depths of the Alps, or 
in some almost unknown village in Algeria, 
could I ask her to follow me? Could I con- 
demn her to the life of a soldier’s wife, which 
is in some degree the life of a soldier himself? 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


161 


Think of the life which she leads now, of all 
that luxury, of all those pleasures!” 

“Yes,” said the Abbe, “that is more serious 
than the question of money.” 

“So serious that there is no hesitation pos- 
sible. During the three weeks that I passed 
alone in the camp I have well considered all 
that; I have thought of nothing else, and lov- 
ing her as I do love, the reason must indeed 
be strong which shows me clearly my duty. I 
must go. I must go far, very far away, as far 
as possible. I shall suffer much, but I must 
not see her again! I must not see her 
again !” 

Jean sank on a chair near the fire-place. 
He remained there quite overpowered with his 
emotion. The old priest looked at him. 

“To see you suffer, my poor boy! That such 
suffering should fall upon you ! It is too cruel, 
too unjust!” 

At that moment some one knocked gently at 
the door. 

“Ah!” said the Cure, “do not be afraid, 
Jean. I will send them away.” 

The Abbe went to the door, opened it, and 
recoiled as if before an unexpected apparition. 

It was Bettina. In a moment she had seen 
Jean, and going direct to him — 

“You!” cried she. “Oh, how glad I am!” 

He rose. She took both his hands in hers, 
and addressing the Cure, she said : 

“I beg your pardon, Monsieur le Cure, for 
going to him first. I saw you yesterday, but I 
have not seen him for three whole weeks, not 

11 Abbe Constantin 


162 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


since a certain night when he left our house 
sad and suffering.” 

She still held Jean’s hands. He had neither 
power to make a movement nor to utter a 
sound. 

“And now,” continued Bettina, “are you 
better? No, not yet, I can see; still sad. Ah, 
I have done well to come ! It was inspiration ! 
However, it embarrassed me much to find you 
here. You will understand why when you 
know what I have come to ask of your god- 
father. ’ ’ 

She relinquished his hands, and, turning 
toward the Abbe, said: 

“I have come to beg you to listen to my con- 
fession — yes, my confession. But do not go 
away, Monsieur Jean; I will make my confes- 
sion publicly. I am quite willing to speak 
before you, and now I think of it, it will be 
better thus. Let us sit down, shall we?” 

She felt herself full of confidence and daring. 
She burnt with fever, but with that fever 
which on the field of battle gives to a soldier 
ardor, heroism, and disdain of danger. The 
emotion which made Bettina’ s heart beat 
quicker than usual was a high and generous 
emotion. She said to herself : 

“I wish to be loved! I wish to love! I 
wish to be happy ! I wish to make him happy ! 
And since he cannot have the courage to do it, 
I must have it for both. I must march alone, 
my head high and my heart at ease, to the 
conquest of our love, to the conquest of our 
happiness!” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


163 


From her first words Bettina had gained over 
the Abbe and Jean a complete ascendancy. 
They let her say what she liked, they let her 
do as she liked, they felt that the hour was 
supreme ; they understood that what was hap- 
pening would be decisive, irrevocable, but 
neither was in a position to foresee. 

They sat down obediently, almost automat- 
ically; they waited, they listened. Alone of 
the three, Bettina retained her composure. It 
was in a calm and even voice that she began. 

“I must tell you first, Monsieur le Cure, to 
set your conscience quite at rest, — I must tell 
you that I am here with the consent of my 
sister and my brother-in-law. They know why 
I have come; they know what I am going to 
do. They not only know, but they approve. 
That is settled, is it not? Well, what brings 
me here is your letter, Monsieur Jean, — that 
letter in which you tell my sister that you can 
not dine with us this evening, and that you are 
positively obliged to leave here. This letter 
has unsettled all my plans. I had intended 
this evening — of course with the permission of 
my sister and brother-in-law — I had intended 
after dinner to take you into the park, Mon- 
sieur Jean, to seat myself with you on a bench ; 
I was childish enough to choose the place 
beforehand. There I should have delivered a 
little speech, well prepared, well studied, 
almost learnt by heart, for since your depart- 
ure I have scarcely thought of anything else ; 
I repeat it to myself from morning to night. 
That is what I had proposed to do, and you 


164 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


understand that your letter caused me much 
embarrassment. I reflected a little, and 
thought that if I addressed my little speech to 
your godfather it would be almost the same as 
if I addressed it to you. So I have come, 
Monsieur le Cure, to beg you to listen to me.” 

“I will listen to you, Miss Percival,” stam- 
mered the Abbe. 

“Iam rich, Monsieur le Cure, I am very rich, 
and, to speak frankly, I love my wealth very 
much— yes, very much. To it I owe the lux- 
ury which surrounds me, luxury which, I ac- 
knowledge, — this is a confession, — is by no 
means disagreeable to me. My excuse is that 
I am still very young; it will perhaps pass as 
I grow older, but of that I am not very 
sure. I have another excuse: it is, that 
if I love money a little for the pleasure 
it procures me, I love it still more for the good 
which it allows me to do. I love it — selfishly, 
if you like — for the joy of giving; but I think 
that my fortune is not very badly placed in my 
hands. Well, Monsieur le Cure, in the same 
way that you have the care of souls, it seems 
that I have the care of money. I have always 
thought, ‘I wish, above all things, that my 
husband should be worthy of sharing this great 
fortune. I wish to be very sure that he will 
make a good use of it with me while I am 
here, and after me if I must leave this world 
first.’ I thought of another thing; I thought, 
‘He who will be my husband must>be some 
one I can love!’ And now, Monsieur le Cure, 
this is where my confession really begins. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


165 


There is a man who for the last two months 
has done all he can to conceal from me that he 
loves me, but I do not doubt that this man 
loves me. . . . You do love me, Jean?” 

“Yes,” said Jean, in a low voice, his eyes 
cast down, looking like a criminal, “I do love 
you!” 

“I knew it very well, but I wanted to hear 
you say it; and now, I entreat you, do not 
utter a single word. Any words of yours 
would be useless, would disturb me, would 
prevent me from going straight to my aim, and 
telling you what I positively intend to say. 
Promise me to stay there, sitting still, without 
moving, without speaking. You promise me?” 

“I promise you. ” 

Bettina, as she went on speaking, began to 
lose a little of her confidence; her voice 
trembled slightly. She continued, however, 
with a gayety that was a little forced. 

“Monsieur le Cure, I do not blame you for 
what has happened, yet all this is a little your 
fault.” 

“My fault!” 

“Ah! do not speak, not even you. Yes, I 
repeat it, your fault. ... I am certain that 
you have spoken well of me to Jean, much too 
well. Perhaps without that he would not have 
thought — And at the same time, you have 
spoken very well of him to me. Not too well 
— no, no — but yet very well ! Then I had so 
much confidence in you that I began to look at 
him, and examine him with a little more 
attention. I began to compare him with those 


166 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


who during the last year, had asked my hand. 
It seemed to me that he was in every respect 
superior to them. 

“At last it happened on a certain day, or 
rather on a certain evening — three weeks ago, 
the evening before you left here, Jean — I dis- 
covered that I loved you. ... Yes, Jean, I 
love you! ... I entreat you, do not speak, 
stay where you are ; do not come near me. 

“Before I came here I thought I had sup- 
plied myself with a good stock of courage, but 
you see I have no longer my fine composure of 
a minute ago. But I have still something to 
tell you, and the most important of all. Jean, 
listen to me carefully; I do not wish for a reply 
torn from you in your emotion ; I know that 
you love me. If you marry me, I do not wish 
it to be only for love ; I wish it to be also for 
reasons. During the fortnight before you left 
here, you took so much pains to avoid me, to 
escape any conversation, that I have not been 
able to show myself to you as I am. Perhaps 
there are in me certain qualities which you do 
not suspect. . . 

“Jean, I know what you are, I know to what 
I should bind myself in marrying you, and I 
would be for you not only the loving and ten- 
der woman, but the courageous and constant 
wife. I know your entire life ; your godfather 
has related it to me. I know why you became 
a soldier, I know what duties, what sacrifices, 
the future may demand from you. Jean, do 
not suppose that I will turn you from any of 
these duties, from any of these sacrifices. If 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


167 


I could be disappointed with you for anything, 
it would be, perhaps, for this thought, — oh! 
you must have had it, — that I should wish 
you free, and quite my own, that I should ask 
you to abandon your career. Never! never! 
Understand well, I will never ask such a thing 
of you. . . . 

“A young girl whom I know did that when 
she married, and she did wrong. I love you, 
and I wish you to be just what you are. It is 
because you live differently from, and better 
than, those who have before desired me for a 
wife, that I desire you for a husband. I should 
love you less — perhaps I should not love you at 
all, though that would be very difficult — if you 
were to begin to live as all those live whom I 
would not have. When I can follow you, I 
will follow you ; wherever you are will be my 
duty, wherever you are will be my happiness. 
And if the day comes when you cannot take me, 
the day when you must go alone, — well, Jean, 
on that day I promise you to be brave, and not 
take your courage from you. 

“And now, Monsieur le Cure, it is not to 
him, it is to you that I am speaking: I want 
you to answer me, not him. Tell me, ... if 
he loves me, and feels me worthy of his love, 
would it be just to make me expiate so severely 
the fortune that I possess! Tell me should he 
not agree to be my husband?” 

“Jean,” said the old priest gravely, “marry 
her. It is your duty, and it will be your hap- 
piness!” 

Jean approached Bettina, took her in his 


168 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


arms, and pressed upon her brow the first 
kiss. 

Bettina gently freed herself, and addressing 
the Abbe, said: 

“And now, Monsieur l’Abbe, I have still 
one thing to ask you. I wish — I wish — ’’ 

“You wish?” 

“Pray, Monsieur le Cure, kiss me too.” 

The old priest kissed her paternally on both 
cheeks, and then Bettina continued : 

“You have often told me, Monsieur le Cure, 
that Jean was almost like your own son, and I 
shall be almost like your own daughter, shall I 
not? So you will have two children, that is 
all.” 

A month after, on the 12th of September, at 
midday, Bettina, in the simplest of wedding 
dresses, entered the church of Longueval 
while, placed behind the altar, the trumpets 
of the 9th Artillery rang joyously through the 
arches of the old church. 

Nancy Turner had begged for the honor of 
playing the organ on this solemn occasion, for 
the poor little harmonium had disappeared ; an 
organ with resplendent pipes rose in the gal- 
lery of the church — it was Miss Percival’s wed- 
ding present to the Abbe Constantin. 

The old Cure said mass, Jean and Bettina 
knelt before him, he pronounced the Benedic- 
tion, and then remained for some moments in 
prayer, his arms extended, calling down with 
his whole soul the blessing of Heaven on his 
two children. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


169 


Then floated from the organ the same revery 
of Chopin’s which Bettina had played the first 
time that she had entered that village church, 
where was to be consecrated the happiness of 
her life. 

And this time it was Bettina who wept. 


THE END. 


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